


Rainbow Child

by GypsyUpir



Category: Hemlock Grove
Genre: Abandonment, Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Family Drama, Happy Ending, Heartbreak, Hurt, M/M, Miscarriage, Mpreg, Pregnant Roman, Romancek
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-21
Updated: 2019-04-11
Packaged: 2019-04-25 22:05:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 30
Words: 118,737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14388072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GypsyUpir/pseuds/GypsyUpir
Summary: "How long?" he asks, the pitch of his voice sounding higher than he meant it to. He looks at Roman, who stands so tall and so statuesque, he doesn't even look real."It's hard to say," Roman replies cooly, digging the heal of his boot into the dirt.Peter realized there was probably a lot of truth in that statement. They'd been going at it pretty much constantly for the past four or five months. To pinpoint the moment this "miracle" occurred would be nearly impossible."I'd say over a month, though."





	1. Chapter 1

The morning sun is already hot as it hangs high over Hemlock Grove. It's early June, but the humidity is already so thick and heavy, just being outside makes it hard to breathe.

 _Shouldn't be this fucking hot before noon,_ Peter Rumancek thought as he left the trailer, sweat already beginning to soak through the t-shirt he was wearing. _So much for that shower._

But now, even as the heat makes his body continue to swelter on the outside, his blood is running cold as ice on the inside.

He feels his head beginning to spin as he looks up at the sky, focusing on the clouds, the billowing trees surrounding him, anything but the boy standing at his side. The boy, so wickedly handsome and brooding and, dare he say, haunting, timidly wills himself into the background.

For the first time since they met just a little less than a year ago, Peter thinks Roman Godfrey looks scared; truly, unabashedly scared.

They met up in the woods surrounding Kilderry Park, per Roman's request to speak in private, which didn't immediately strike Peter as odd. He and Roman had been meeting in secret for months now, finally putting an end to the little game of cock teasing they’d been playing with each other for well over a year. Embarrassed at the thought now, Peter was thinking that was exactly the purpose of their meeting today. _A fuck in the woods? Kinky._

But that idea strayed far from his mind the minute he arrived at the park and saw the state Roman was in. He never looked up once as Peter approached, leaning against his car, burning holes into the asphalt with his eyes. Even as Peter got out of the car and came to stand in front of him, Roman still wouldn't look at him.

Then, addressing the ground more or less, Roman told Peter to follow him, and that's when Peter knew it was bad.

 _Not a good sign,_ Peter thought. _No, not a good sign at all._

He just never imagined it would be this bad.

And now, still looking up at the sky with his mind throwing a million questions and worries at him at once, he figures he has to at least say something, anything.

Clearing his throat, Peter runs a hand down his face as he turns to Roman.

"How long?" he asks, the pitch of his voice sounding higher than he meant it to. He looks at Roman, who stands so tall and so statuesque, he doesn't even look real.

"It's hard to say," Roman replies cooly, digging the heal of his boot into the dirt.

Peter realized there was probably a lot of truth in that statement. They'd been going at it pretty much constantly for the past four or five months. To pinpoint the moment this "miracle" occurred would be nearly impossible.

"I'd say over a month, though."

Peter looks, really looks, at Roman since meeting up. Though trying to appear as non-chalant and unbothered as he normally does about most things, Peter notices how Roman's eyes seem to nervously dance between the two of them.

He also can't help but think how tired he looks, with bags starting to form under those piercing green eyes Peter finds himself getting lost in and how his usually porcelain skin now has a gray hue.

Yes, something is definitely wrong here.

"I know this is real shitty news. I'm sorry," Roman says robotically, still looking at the ground.

Peter feels a pang of guilt in his gut, wishing Roman would look at him just once. Before he can think about it, Peter strides toward him, his arms warmly held out to him. He places a hand gently on Roman's arm, who immediately shies away from the gesture with the fear of a scolded child.

"Roman," Peter says. "This isn't your fault."

Finally, Roman looks at Peter and when he does, Peter is nearly knocked over by the sight. Those eyes, usually so bright and expressive and alive suddenly look dark, like someone has flipped a switch and turned them off.

Those eyes that seem to peer straight into your soul and gauge every thought and emotion you've ever tried to hide have no life to them now. In those eyes, Peter realizes with a sinking heart, he sees nothing.

"The fuck it isn't," Roman argues. "I screw everything up."

Peter adamantly shakes his head. "No, you don't. This is on both of us. Ya know...'takes two to tango'." Peter does a little bit of a jig to get his point across, which makes Roman smile slightly, but ultimately fails to lighten up the mood.

"And you're absolutely sure?" Peter asks. Roman narrows his eyes at him, looking almost insulted he would ask.

"Like I would say anything if I wasn't!" Roman scoffs.

"I don't mean...", Peter throws up his hands. "I mean, you've taken a test right?"

Roman nods. "Three of them."

Peter feels bile rise in his throat as he asks his next question, already knowing the answer.

"Have you been to a doctor?"

A smile spreads across Roman's face, but it isn't at all friendly.

"No doctor is going to agree to treat me with the threat of Olivia hanging over their head," Roman asks. "And I'm not going to the Institute. That's what she'd want."

Peter knew he had a point. Olivia Godfrey more or less owns this town, and would insist that any child born into their family would not be cared for outside their own personal facilities. Peter shudders to think what she would do if she found out about the baby, much less that he was the father.

Suddenly, a realization comes to him. "Destiny," Peter says. "My cousin, she's a midwife."

Roman gave him a skeptical look as he remembered the first time he met Destiny. They of course greeted each other with a veil of distrust over their civility. It was nothing personal, he knew, but it certainly didn't stop her from repeatedly grabbing his hand and spouting some vague and cryptic shit about his future he still doesn't understand.

But, for the most part, he didn't mind Destiny. And he would sure as hell trust her more than anyone his mother would set him up with.

"Palm reading and childbirth? What interesting skills," Roman quips dryly.

"She wears a lot of hats," Peter replies.

"How do you even know she'd help us? Last I knew, I wasn't exactly on her list of favorites," Roman retorts.

"She would do it for me," Peter says.

Roman nods and looks back down at the ground before saying, "Would she be able to do an abortion?"

Peter feels all the blood run from his face. He'd never even thought of not keeping the baby. The gypsy's have always been a fertile people, believing children to be the gifts their parents sowed from themselves and offered as their legacy.

The news of this child is shocking, yes, but Peter could already see himself as a father; getting up in the middle of the night to feed the baby and then rocking them back to sleep, playing on the swings in the park on sunny afternoons, teaching them how to read and tie their shoes, and eventually, when they're old enough, telling them all about their heritage.

A baby in the Godfrey house, however, could mean something entirely different. The baby would probably be viewed as more of a burden than a blessing, like a roadblock in the middle of their path to power and wealth. He doubted Olivia would accept this child anyway and make Roman's life hell if he decided to keep a "half-breed gypsy" baby. Still, it kills Peter to think Roman would want to dispose of the life they created together.

"Is that what you want?" Peter asks, preparing for the blow to his heart.

But to his disbelief, Roman just kind of shrugs and shuffles his feet as he says, "I don't know."

Peter feels a weight fall off of his chest at Roman's words. "Well, I think it's something we should talk about."

They stand in silence for about ten seconds before Roman pulls his pack of cigarettes out of his back pocket. Peter watches in shock as Roman shamelessly shoves one in his mouth and lights it up.

Before he even has a chance to take a drag, Peter has ripped the cigarette out of Roman's mouth and thrown it into the dirt.

"What the hell are you doing?!" Peter cries as he crushes the cigarette with his boot. Roman glares at Peter for a few seconds before the realization appears to dawn on him.

"Oh...right. I've tried to cut back, but..." Roman says, his expression not hiding his embarrassment.

Peter sighs and wipes the sweat from his upper lip, holding out his hand. "Hand 'em over."

Though he hesitates, Roman eventually drops the pack of cigarettes into Peter's open palm. As soon as the pack touches his skin, Peter crushes it.

The two of them look at each other for a long moment, silent though their eyes say so much.

"Look," Peter says softly. "I think our main concern right now is getting you looked at. Ya know, make sure all is good in there, and confirming there really is something to worry about."

Roman shakes his head, but says nothing.

"Then, once we know what we're up against, we talk about our options."

"Alright," Roman clears his throat. "Let's go then."

Without looking up, Roman starts to make his way past Peter, when Peter grabs his arm and pulls him into an embrace. Though his body is extremely wooden at first, Peter feels Roman immediately soften in his arms and carefully hold him in return.

"It's gonna be okay," Peter says in his ear. He hears Roman sigh against him, sounding almost relieved. Peter kisses the spot on Roman's neck, just below his ear, feeling goosebumps instantly prickle over Roman's skin.

"We're gonna be fine."


	2. Chapter 2

Peter and Roman pull up to Destiny's apartment at the same time and walk up to the front door together, though careful not to walk too closely to one another. If the prying eyes of the community were to catch wind of their relationship, it would lead to a witch hunt, especially if their current predicament became known.

No secret ever stayed hidden in Hemlock Grove and they know they're pressing their luck with every passing day.

Peter rings the intercom bell at the front door of Destiny's apartment. In the silence between the ring and waiting for a response, Roman secretly hopes she's not home, but within seconds, Destiny's voice comes over the scratchy intercom.

"How DARE you disturb me, Peter!"

Of course she knew it was him. Peter is quick to respond with his usual brand of snappy sarcasm.

"Oh, I'm sorry, has the hooker not left yet? Cuz I can always come back, I'd hate to interrupt the orgy," he says. Roman chuckles at the banter.

"Just shut your mouth and get up here," Destiny shoots back.

The alarm sounds on the front door, signaling it unlocked. Peter opens it and steps aside to let Roman go first. As they make their way up the stairs, Roman begins to feel his stomach turn. He closes his eyes and tries to will the feeling away, praying he won't get a bout of morning sickness right here in the hallway. That'd be a great way to break the news to Destiny.

Unfortunately for Roman, Peter notices his discomfort right away.

"What's wrong?" Peter asks, his voice laced with concern.

"Nothing," Roman says, his tone betraying him. Peter gently puts a hand on Roman's chest, halting him.

"You look a little pale, are you feeling sick?" Peter persists.

Roman pushes his hand away. "I'm fine," he says, and starts climbing the stairs again. Peter just sighs and follows him like some pathetic puppy.

When they make it up to Destiny's door, the two of them share a distressed look, like they're both asking the other if they should go through with this at all. But just as Peter raises his fist to knock, Destiny flings the door open, her wide smile for Peter falling slightly when she sees Roman.

"Hello," she says, eyes narrowing in suspicion.

"Hey," Peter and Roman say in unison.

Destiny steps aside to let them both in, her eyes never once leaving Roman's backside. She follows them into the living room and plops down heavily in her big arm chair, her gaze on Peter and Roman who stand awkwardly side by side.

"Well, sit down! Make yourself at home," she laughs.

The boys look at each other, before Peter ushers for Roman to sit first, a gesture that doesn't go unnoticed. She picks up her pack of cigarettes off of the coffee table, offering one to each of them, then sticking one in her mouth after they both decline.

"So! To what do I owe this tremendous honor?" Destiny asks as she lights her cigarette.

At her words, Roman feels his stomach turn again, even worse than it did a few minutes before.

"Well...we, uh, kinda need some help. We have ourselves in a little bit of a situation," Peter says.

Roman can feel the sweat beginning to form on the edge of his forehead and his cheeks going warm as his stomach starts to cramp. Trying not to seem conspicuous, he takes a deep breath and exhales it slowly, hoping to relieve the nausea. It doesn't even touch it.

"What'd you boys do now?" Destiny scoffs with a grin.

Suddenly, Roman feels the bile from his stomach leap into his throat and he knows he has to get out of this room. Though he tries to fight it, he gags hard and struggles to make it off the couch.

Both Peter and Destiny look at him with alarm, Peter instinctively reaching out to help steady him. Roman covers his mouth with one hand and slaps Peter away with the other.

"Roman, what's--" Destiny starts to ask, but is cut off by another one of Roman's gags. He makes it around the couch and stops when he realizes he has nowhere to go.

Too embarrassed to look at her, he mumbles, "Bathroom..."

"It's through that doorway, on the right," Destiny says, pointing through the large archway. Roman runs through to the bathroom, slamming the door behind him. Peter and Destiny listen helplessly as he begins vomiting and gagging violently.

While Peter winces at the retched noise, Destiny just looks bewildered.

"Jesus..." she says, as another round of gagging starts. Peter fidgets, wanting to do something, but having no idea what.

"Should I make him some tea? I think I have ginger root somewhere," Destiny says, more to herself than to Peter. Peter doesn't respond.

The noise from the bathroom seems to cease, but only for a few seconds. Destiny starts to get up from her chair, but is stopped by the sound of another wave of sick beginning. She looks at the closed door and then looks at Peter, who has his head hung down. And as she looks at him, she gets this strange feeling, sensing something that's like a nagging in the back of her brain.

Even if they weren't directly in front of her, she'd still sense Peter's and Roman's presence, their auras. And while Roman is an Upir and often tries to shield his aura when she's around (he's not too keen on the "psychic mumbo-jumbo", as he calls it), she can still sense at least a part of him.

His shield was weak when they first arrived, but now, in his current state, it's practically vanished. And when she was able to sense him completely, she felt something else, something small, but undeniably there. Almost as if...there were three people visiting instead of two.

Peter hears a sharp intake of breath and looks up to see Destiny staring at him with wild eyes. He feels his cheeks grow hot as Destiny's mouth slowly falls open, knowing that she knows.

"What the FUCK, Peter?!" she cries, fighting to keep her voice low so Roman won't hear.

Peter leans his head against the back of the couch, covering his face with his hands.

"Dee..." he groans.

"No! Don't say a word," Destiny hisses as she puts out her cigarette, only to immediately light another one and stomp into the kitchen.

Peter watches as she angrily rummages with the tea kettle. She fills it with water and slams it on the stove burner before igniting the flame.

She then leans against the counter on her palms, closing her eyes and exhaling a long breath. Besides the muffled sounds of Roman gagging and coughing from the bathroom, there's an incredibly long and uncomfortable silence between them. After a few minutes, Destinty starts back in.

"What are you thinking?? How could you... What the fuck happened?" she screeches.

"I'm pretty sure you know what happened," Peter smarts back.

"Don't, Peter. I'm serious," she snaps, holding up a finger as a warning.

"What do you want me to say?" Peter says, shooting up from the couch. "It's happened, alright? And we don't know what to do. That's why we came here."

"You came to me...of all people?" Destiny blanches. "Like I'd ever get involved in Godfrey business."

"It's not just Godfrey business anymore. It involves me too," Peter says seriously. Destiny gives Peter a cross look.

"And speaking of this 'business'," she says. "What about the child?"

"What about it?" Peter asks, already feeling defensive.

"What if it's not like us?" she says. Peter just stares at her, knowing exactly what she means, but daring her to say it anyway. And just as he knew she would, she takes the bait.

"You know what he is, Peter."

"And he knows what I am," Peter shoots back. "I'm no better."

Just then, the tea kettle starts whistling, yet neither one of them break eye contact. When the noise finally becomes too much, Destiny snatches the kettle from the stove burner. She retrieves a mug from the cabinet and carefully pours the tea.

"Or what if it's both?" she suddenly says, worry shining in her eyes.

Peter looks at her, perplexed.

"I mean, what if it's both werewolf and upir?" she says.

"Is that possible?" Peter asks, fear creeping into his voice.

"Gee, I don't know!" she snaps sarcastically. "I didn't really want to find out, either! Who knows what the two of you have created; that's what scares me shitless about this whole thing. And you didn't even consider the possibility of it happening while you were fucking, did you?"

Peter is instantly angry, and is about to lay into Destiny when Roman emerges from the bathroom, hand over his mouth and careful not to look anyone in eye. He comes to stand sheepishly next to Peter at the counter. Destiny and Peter eye each other with daggers. This isn't over.

Destiny slides the mug of tea over to him. "I didn't have any ginger root to put in it, but either way...tea should help settle your stomach."

"Thanks," Roman replies, taking the mug. When he lifts up his eyes to meet hers, Destiny knows he's heard their entire conversation.

Roman takes a sip of the tea and winces when it hits his stomach. The morning sickness started over a month ago and has happened periodically ever since. The symptom immediately put Roman on high alert. He vaguely remembered having chicken pox once as a child, but other than that, he never got sick. It probably had something to do with his Upir immune system, which was at least one upside to being what he was.

This, however, is not a sickness, and he can't treat it like it is. When the vomiting first started one morning a few weeks ago, he wondered if he'd over done it on the scotch the night before. However, the vomiting didn't stop at one morning. Every morning for a week, the same routine; wake up, throw up, drink some coffee, throw up, try to eat breakfast, throw up a final time.

After five days, Roman was forced to consider the possibilities. He had noticed other symptoms as well; his body ached constantly, his mood was all over the the place (not that that was unusual for him, but he was now moody to the extreme...tantrums, crying spells and all), and he just felt "off".

Then one morning, after his final bout of sickness after breakfast, a realization hit him like a truck. He was rinsing his mouth out in front of the mirror and absentmindedly ran a hand over his stomach. Only...something felt different. His normally chiseled stomach felt softer, his waist plumper.

He stood back and looked at his whole form in the giant vanity mirror and saw, as clear as day, the new bump forming in his lower belly. And in that moment, he knew exactly what was happening.

He was in denial about being pregnant, even after he took three pregnancy tests that all came back positive. He'd somewhat convinced himself it had to be a mistake, some cruel joke God was trying to play. He and Peter were always careful; he didn't understand how this could've possibly happened.

And what would Peter say? There's no way he would want to have a child, especially with a monster like Roman. Their entire relationship...or affair...or whatever this was would be destroyed, and the thought of losing Peter broke his heart. He couldn't believe he'd fucked up so badly.

He couldn't possibly keep this baby. He didn't even want this baby...right? He would tell himself that over and over whenever he wondered what it would be like to be a father and shamelessly fantasized about he and Peter raising their child together in some all-American cliche featuring a white picket fence and a mortgage.

No. No, that couldn't happen. They couldn't have this baby, they wouldn't. And yet...he found himself being extra careful when it came to foods or drinks or activities considered to be dangerous to a pregnancy, like he was afraid of hurting the life inside of him, like he cared. Why would he care?

Roman takes another sip of the tea, pretending not to notice the way Peter and Destiny keep staring at him.

"Are you okay?" Peter asks. Roman just nods.

Destiny clears her throat, which catches both of their attention.

"So," she says, trying to sound neutral, and failing miserably. "How far along are you, Roman?"

He glances up at her, wanting so badly to appear as a malevolent force to be reckoned with, but feeling more like he wants to cry.

"I don't know," he says, fighting to keep his voice steady.

"And you haven't been to a doctor or anything?" she asks.

Before Roman can answer, Peter interjects.

"He doesn't want to go the institute. And you know Olivia wouldn't allow him to go anywhere else."

Destiny looks at Peter and she knows she can't argue there. Olivia Godfrey not only has a vice grip on Hemlock Grove, but also relentlessly tries to pull the reigns on her son. Roman may be a lot of things, but responsible for his mother he is not. Deep down, she feels a bit sorry for him.

On the other hand, she doesn't want to be the one to undermine Olivia. What would happen if she found out? Destiny knows she doesn't need that kind of worry. Nothing good ever comes from dealing with a Godfrey.

Destiny sighs; she knows she really has no choice in this.

"Well," she says. "should we take a look at this kid?"


	3. Chapter 3

Roman lies flat on Destiny's bed, staring at the ceiling, while Peter stands awkwardly off to the side. Though he tries not to, Peter can't stop looking at Roman, fretting. As if Roman's life weren't fucked up and complicated enough as it is.

And what about him? Like he's better off himself! How the hell could they have let this happen? This was supposed to be a casual fling, no strings attached and no...feelings. Peter was in no position to discuss that just yet, especially considering what's come to light.

"You can stop eye-fucking me anytime, Peter," Roman suddenly says, making Peter nearly jump out of his skin.

"I...I wasn't," Peter chokes out.

Roman just rolls his eyes. "I told you, I'm fine."

About that time, Destiny comes into the room, carrying a portable machine of some kind, a blood pressure cuff, and a few other medical instruments. She sets it all down on the bed and gives them both a square look, standing straight with her hands on her hips.

"Okay. If I'm going to do this, there has to be a few ground rules," she says sternly.

Roman sits up to look her in the eye and Peter takes a seat on the edge of the bed.

"First, nobody knows I'm helping you, alright? Believe what you want, it's not a personal thing, so Peter, stop giving me that look," she says, as Peter glares at her. "You both know that the Godfrey's and Rumancek's don't mix...with the exception of you two idiots, that is. If our families find out about this, shit's gonna hit the fan. So...the less people know, the better."

Roman and Peter exchange a glance and then nod nonchalantly. Destiny sighs and rolls her eyes before continuing.

"And secondly, Roman...," she emphasizes. Roman slowly lifts his head to look at her, eyes narrowed and clearly annoyed to be called out.

"You're gonna have to trust me," she says with a sincerity Roman never expected to hear. "I know you and I don't always mince well, but this is one of my jobs and I take it very seriously. You need to know that I really do have you and your baby's best interest at heart."

Roman's expression softens and he finds himself at a loss for words. He knows what Destiny thinks of him, that he's just some arrogant, spoiled little rich boy who got a hold of her cousin and has, now, ruined his life by saddling him with a baby. And yet, he knows she wouldn't do anything to intentionally harm him or the child, especially since it's Peter's.

"I trust you more than I'd trust any scumbag doctor my mother would let get their hands on me," Roman says earnestly.

A tiny smile tugs at the corners of Destiny's mouth. "So, now that we have an understanding, we can get started."

She reaches over to gather the equipment she brought in. She asks Roman to sit up as straight as he can and asks him to breathe deeply as she presses a stethoscope to his chest and listens to his heart and lungs.

Peter watches intently, wanting to ask a million questions, but afraid he'll impose. He knows he has every right to ask questions, but he's acutely aware of how on edge Roman is about all this. He doesn't want to make him anymore nervous by getting nervous himself.

He continues watching as Destiny nods in approval at Roman's vitals and moves on to putting the blood pressure cuff around his arm. She pumps for what feels like 10 minutes before saying "Very good!" and removing the cuff.

It was this time that Peter's eyes fall on the machine she brought in and he realizes it's an ultrasound. He feels something hitch in his throat, and whether it's fear, excitement, nerves, he can't say. His biggest concern is how Roman will handle actually seeing the baby, if he will handle it. Peter's not sure which he fears more; a poor reaction or no reaction at all.

"All your vitals are great," Destiny says. "Now on to the fun stuff! Just lie down flat for me, lift up your shirt and lower the waist of your pants."

Roman does what has been instructed, actively avoiding anyone's eyes. Once he's lifted up his shirt, Destiny begins gently feeling the little bump that's beginning to round Roman's lower belly. She presses down slightly.

"Does it hurt when I do that?" she asks.

"No," Roman says.

"What are you doing?" Peter suddenly pipes up, anxious.

"Just checking on the organs," Destiny replies. "Huh... Just by eye-balling it, I'd say you're around 9 or 10 weeks."

"That's, what? Two months?" Peter asks

"Two and a half," Destiny replies.

She casts her gaze down at Roman, whose suddenly gone incredibly pale.

"You alright?" she asks Roman. "You look a little green. Want some more of your tea?"

Roman just takes a deep breath and shakes his head. "I'm fine."

Peter wants to sit beside him, hold his hand, let him know he's here and it's okay to be scared; he's scared too. But he knows their rules about affection and how their longing is reserved strictly for the bedroom. And he's pretty sure Destiny wouldn't appreciate seeing it either.

Destiny then brings the ultrasound machine to sit on the bedside table by Roman's head. She picks up the squirt bottle that's sitting in a little rack on the side of the machine and squeezes a small dollop of clear gel just below his belly button.

She turns the machine on and inspects the transducer as she waits for it to fire up completely.

"Peter, do you wanna come closer?" Destiny says to Peter with a smile. "Take a peek at your baby?"

Peter looks at Roman, who's face is completely blank, but pats the spot next to him on the bed.

Peter carefully comes to sit next to Roman, just as Destiny looks at him and says, "Ready?"

Roman nods and she gently places the transducer in the spot of gel on his stomach.

He and Peter watch as the screen on the machine comes to life. There's not much to see at first; just endless swirls and lines of black and white and gray. Destiny moves the transducer all over the lower part of Roman's stomach, her eyes intensely focused on the screen.

Then, suddenly, an image comes into focus. It's tiny, and difficult to decipher at first glance, but the longer the transducer lingers in place, the shape of a developing baby forms.

Peter feels the breath escape from his lungs. He can't believe what he's seeing. He just found out about this kid today, and now he gets to see its growing form before his very eyes. It's absolutely incredible.

He looks at Roman and sees he is completely transfixed on the screen. Destiny glides the transducer around a little more and the baby moves in unison.

"Aw, there it is," Destiny says softly, a smile brightening up her face. She starts circling parts of the screen with her finger. "See the head? And their little body?"

She uses the transducer to get a decent profile of the baby and she unconsciously makes little "Mmhm" noises to herself. Other than that, there is only the sound of Peter and Roman's anxious breaths.

Watching the screen, Roman feels so many emotions coursing through him, he finds it hard to keep still. He never anticipated anything like this, how seeing this little person he and Peter created would unearth so many primal, protective instincts at once. And bring with them such enormous fear.

Though the baby itself is so tiny, Roman can see it moving, wiggling around in a little dance inside of him, and he's so scared, yet so overjoyed.

"Oh!" Destiny suddenly says, like she's just remembered something. "Listen."

She starts fiddling with a couple of knobs on the machine. It starts out quietly, but eventually the room is filled with sound; a rapid, rhythmic "thump-thump-thump"

"It's the heartbeat. See? That blinking right there, that's it," she says, pointing to a blinking dot on the screen.

And with that, Roman can't fight the emotions anymore; his eyes immediately well with tears. He can't help the smile that spreads across his face as he watches his baby continue its little dance. The tears quickly spill over down his cheeks, and in his happiness, he doesn't care who sees.

That being said, Destiny notices right off the bat.

"Pretty amazing, isn't it?" she smiles. Roman just nods and absently wipes a tear away.

"You alright?" Peter asks. Roman turns to look at him, seeing Peter wearing a smile that mirrors his own, and when their eyes meet, they both know in an instant they're on the same page.

Unconsciously, Peter's hand falls on top of Roman's and for a split second, he thinks he might've made a mistake. But before he can take the gesture back, Roman's fingers curl around his own and all doubt is erased.

"It's nine weeks...the size of a cherry!" Destiny chimes in over the sound of the baby's heartbeat still echoing throughout the room. "Measurements are right on track, heartbeat sounds great. All is as it should be."

"Can you tell what it is? Like if it's a boy or a girl?" Peter asks anxiously.

Destiny scrunches up her nose slightly. "Eh, it's still early, so I won't be able to tell with the machine for a few more weeks."

She takes the probe off of Roman's belly and both he and Peter feel a bit dismayed when the sound of their child's heart disappears.

Then Destiny gives them a quirky grin when she says, "But I don't need the machine to see that. May I?"

She holds out her hand to Roman, who's eyes narrow at her with suspicion. He glances at Peter who only smiles and nudges him along with a nod of his head. Carefully, Roman lifts his hand to her, and she grabs it eagerly. Then she places her other hand on his stomach, still sticky with conductive gel.

Closing her eyes exhaling deeply through her nose, Destiny lets her head fall back to her shoulders. Roman shoots up an eyebrow at Peter who just gives a tiny shrug and goes back to watching Destiny.

Suddenly, Destiny inhales sharply and her head shoots forward. Her eyes pop open and she blinks a couple of times before letting go of Roman. They look at her expectantly as a wide, mischievous smile lights up her face.

"Looks like we've got a girl."


	4. Chapter 4

Roman and Peter leave Destiny's feeling all buzzed and high with a new-found energy. Seeing their child - their daughter - was so much more of an emotionally charged experience than they were prepared to handle. Now, all they want to do is be alone and talk about how bright their future is bound to become.

Destiny gave Roman a list of pre-natal vitamins he could try, along with some natural oils and herbal teas for the nausea. She assured them again that everything appeared to be right on track, but didn't hide her worry as she was bidding them farewell. 

"Just be careful," she urged. "And remember, I'm not involved."

Peter and Roman then got into their separate cars and drove back to Kilderry Park, venturing once again into the forest where they met this morning. They walked around aimlessly between the trees and over the boulders and stumps, too wound up to stay still. They even held hands a bit as they jumped over puddles and laughed at nothing in particular, just overcome with giddiness.

After talking for at least half an hour about how amazing their baby was to see and having a silly debate over who it resembled more, they eventually fell into a more serious conversation, the one they knew needed to be had.

"So, what do you think?" Peter asks. Roman is thoughtful for a moment before looking at Peter with a gravely serious expression.

"I wanna have her," he says simply, no room for doubt in his voice.

"So do I," Peter smiles, relief flooding through him. 

He walks over to Roman and wraps an arm around his waist, placing a hand over the small mound that is their growing baby. Roman places his hand on Peter's and they stand there silently, reveling in the moment.

Roman then sighs and brings his eyes to meet Peter's. "This is gonna be really fucking hard, you know that right?"

"I know," Peter says. "but we'll get through it. We will...I promise.

Roman then leans into Peter, their lips meeting and they seem to absorb one another in a passionate kiss. Peter grabs Roman's face to bring him even closer, while Roman runs his hands through Peter's hair, each second passing with more want and longing than the last. Peter feels Roman's hunger and wants nothing more than to let him feast.

When the kiss breaks, they look at each other, their eyes burning with the desire they haven't been able to resist for months.

"You know," Peter pants. "the trailer's not far from here. And, if you remember, Lynda's off visiting our cousins in Louisiana...for the entire summer." 

Peter barely has the words out when Roman says, "Take me there."

Peter grabs Roman's hand and leads him to his home and into his bed, the only place the two of them can fully belong to one another.

~*~*~*~

It's nearly 10:30 by the time Roman makes it home that night. Once he and Peter made it to the trailer, they made love for hours. It was completely the opposite of what he expected to happen. He was so sure his revelation of the baby would scare Peter off, and when it did, Roman would probably have no choice but to get rid of it.

That's what he was thinking he had to do anyway. No one knew about him and Peter, and he planned to keep it that way. But how could he explain a child? Roman was known to be promiscuous, at least before he met Peter. People would most likely assume the child was an accident from one of his many conquests. 

But he feared the child would eventually be linked to Peter, especially since he insisted on being involved. If the dots were connected, the town would erupt in a frenzy. Despite not many knowing Peter's affliction as a werewolf or Roman's as an upir, neither of them were looked at favorably. The Godfrey's were mainly feared and Peter was suspected to be a thief and a serial killer almost as soon as he arrived in town. 

No, they weren't to be trusted here. 

Yet after today, the fear has lost some of it's grip and is replaced by a new reassurance. He could feel Peter's protective instincts flare up as soon as they saw the child on the ultrasound. He feels they'll be the safest with him, and Roman knows that together they'll be unstoppable against anyone who threatens their family. 

It was hard to say good-bye to Peter tonight, especially after the magic that transpired. Once they finally tired themselves out, they lied in bed, the sheets tangled around their sweaty bodies, and just talked; talked about their daughter, talked about their fears, talked about what they should do.

Their biggest concern at the moment was how to break the news to their families. Peter fretted over how his mother would initially react, though he already knew she'd eventually hover and insist on helping like she always did. Roman had an entirely different plan already in place.

"I'm gonna move out," he says simply as Peter looks at him wide-eyed. "I'll be 18 in a couple of months, all of the money, the institute, it's in my name. Once I'm of age, it's all mine. My father made sure of that before he blew his brains out. Olivia can't do shit."

"Are you gonna...tell her? About the baby?" Peter asks. "I mean, how are you gonna hide THIS for another couple of months?" He puts a hand on Roman's little belly. 

Roman just shrugs. "No more than I'm around her anyway, she won't even notice."

It makes Peter sad that Roman has the mother he does. Peter can't imagine having a mother so cold and self-serving, she wouldn't even notice that her own son is pregnant. Lynda would know right away if it were Peter. He can't keep anything from her anyway with her keen senses, but he knows he couldn't ever be able to hide it.

"You could always crash here," Peter says. "Then when Lynda comes back, we can tell her all of this. She'll help us, I know she will."

Roman is silent, thoughtful. "I can't leave Shelley," he says.

"We'll figure it out," Peter says. 

He knows that no matter what they decide to do, they'd have to accommodate Roman's little sister. Little being the figurative word, as she's over seven feet tall. Peter's not really sure what happened to Shelley to make her how she is, but he does know that despite her monstrous appearance, she's one of the sweetest creatures he's ever encountered. 

And Roman would lay down his life for her; there's no way they could leave her behind.

"I wanna find a house, deep in the country somewhere, secluded from all this. I don't want to raise the baby anywhere near Hemlock Grove," Roman says.

Peter can't disagree with that. There's something about this town that's toxic, and he's meaning outside of the fact that he was practically convicted of murder within the first few months of his arriving. 

And since the brutal slayings of those young girls, Peter's noticed a handful of other strange happenings. It's almost as if the town is cursed, and so is everyone who happens to stumble upon it. 

He was almost run out of town after the accusations, and he would've gladly left if it weren't for Roman. To be honest, he's afraid of Hemlock Grove and he doesn't want his child to be sucked into the curse as well.

"I'm sure you could find a nice place for you and Shelley and the baby..." Peter says.

"And you," Roman finishes, lacing his fingers through Peter's. Peter smiles and gives Roman a quick kiss on the lips.

He asks the question before he can even think about it.

"Should we get married?" Peter asks. Roman's eyes widen in surprise. He kind of laughs until he sees how serious Peter's face is. He looks at him skeptically.

"Is...is that a proposal?" he asks.

Peter starts to tremble as he realizes he hasn't thought this all the way through. Of course he loves Roman; he's been in love with him since the first time they locked eyes in the school courtyard last year. Would he spend his life with Roman? No doubt. Would Roman feel the same? He has no idea. But now he's practically laid it all out on the table, and it can't be taken back.

"No...I mean... I don't know," Peter stammers, thinking he sounds like the biggest idiot on the planet. "Shouldn't we? For the baby, I mean?"

Roman shrugs. "Times have changed. You don't have to marry me just because you knocked me up."

"That wouldn't be the only reason, really. I just..." Peter starts. He feels like he just keeps digging the hole deeper. But the way Roman looks at him makes Peter's stomach twirl. His eyes are practically sparkling. 

"Do you want to marry me?" Roman asks. Peter finds himself unable to speak. He wants so badly to tell Roman how he feels, but is it really the right time? Roman's vulnerable right now, with so many emotions and hormones, there's no way he's thinking rationally. And yet...

"I love you, Roman," Peter says, the words just falling out. "I mean, I love you so fucking much. I've loved you from the moment I saw you. I know this is a lot to take all at once and I have no right to put this on you now, but I had to say it. I've wanted to say it for so long, but I didn't think you'd feel the same way, so I didn't and now! Fuck, now, you're pregnant and I just wanna do the right thing because it's all my fault and...shit, I never should've--"

Peter's rambling is put to an end when Roman places his fingers over his lips. Peter's wide eyes seem to relax when Roman gives him a tiny smile.

"I fucking love you, too," he laughs. Then he kisses Peter hard on the lips. 

The two fall back into silence and lie wrapped in each other. Neither of them brought up the topic of marriage again, seemingly satisfied just knowing it wasn't out of the question for either of them

Even now, Roman's stomach still flutters thinking about the conversation. His love is not only reciprocated, but Peter also wants to spend his life with him. Are they ready for that? They're having a baby, they should be responsible and give their child a "proper" upbringing. 

But like he told Peter, times are different and they don't HAVE to marry. However, they both want to and that means something.

It's all too much to process right now. Roman needs someone to talk to, someone outside of this little world he and Peter have created. He quickly dashes across the foyer before he has any chance of encountering Olivia and into the elevator, sending it up to Shelley's room.


	5. Chapter 5

When he makes it up to Shelley's room (more like a chamber, in his opinion), he finds her crouched over her computer, completely immersed in whatever is on the screen. She turns to look when she hears the elevator reach the top and smiles upon seeing Roman. Her smiles are so contagious, Roman instantly smiles back.

"Hey, sis," he says walking over to her. Gingerly, he moves a piece of hair from her forehead and plants a kiss in its place.

Shelley picks up her palm pilot and types on the keyboard with a stylus. 

"Hello, Roman. Where have you been?" a robotic voice says from the palm pilot. Shelley hasn't been able to speak her whole life. Technology has become her only means of having a voice. Despite this, she doesn't use it much anyway, especially in school or any other public place. Olivia would rather she stay silent at all costs, anyway. It's best to obey.

"I've been with Peter," he says. 

Shelley's face lights up at the mention of Peter's name. He charmed her right from the start, being the only person at school besides Roman who showed her any kindness. It makes Roman happy to know she already approves of him.

"How is Peter?" Shelley types into the pilot, the robot voice stating.

"He's great. He sends his love," Roman says, stroking her cheek, which glows with a sparkling blue under his touch. "Actually, I wanted to talk to you about something.

He feels his stomach twist suddenly, a fear beginning to churn in his gut. It still scares him a little to say it out loud. Besides seeing his daughter's profile today, saying it makes it real. And just like with Peter, he's nervous to what her true reaction will be.

Shelley looks at Roman expectantly as he takes her hands in his.

"So, um...I just found out...something. It might be a bit of a surprise to you. Can you keep an open mind?" Roman begins.

Shelley nods, her eyes wide with curiosity.

"I'm...well, Peter and I are...having a baby," Roman says. Shelley blinks a couple of times before frantically typing something on her pilot.

"A baby?" the robot voice asks, her face ripe with confusion.

"Yes, a baby," Roman says. "I'm pregnant."

Shelley's eyes go wide as they immediately dart down to gaze at Roman's stomach. Roman stands up so Shelley can be eye-level with his middle.

"Yeah. She's in there," he says, gently pressing his fingers into his belly.

Shelley lifts one of her heavily bandaged hands and places her own fingers next to Roman's.

"Aunt Shelley," Roman smiles. 

Shelley then stands up and embraces Roman, picking him at least a foot off the ground, letting out a giggle that sounds more like a clap of thunder. She quickly sits him back down on the ground, remembering he has a little baby inside him and she shouldn't squeeze or jumble him around too much.

"I take it you're happy?" Roman laughs. Shelley nods enthusiastically, then types on her pilot. 

"I'm so happy!"

Roman smiles. "So am I." Then, his expression goes dark. "Only...we have to keep the baby a secret, okay?"

Shelley gives him a befuddled look, then types on to her pilot. "Why?'

Roman takes her hands and leads her to sit on the pile of mattresses she uses for a bed. He once again swipes the hair out of her face.

"Mom doesn't know. I don't want her to know...she won't be happy about it, especially if she finds out about Peter," Roman says. 

Shelley thinks a minute, then nods in understanding.

"We can talk about this more later," Roman says. "Now, let's get you tucked into bed."

Shelley lies down on the mattresses and Roman covers her up with her comforter. 

"You brush your teeth?" he asks. She nods with a wide smile.

Roman tucks the comforter around Shelley's torso, when she reaches a hand up and carefully puts it on Roman's stomach. Roman places his hand over hers and smiles down at her as he begins to sing.

"Beautiful dreamer  
Wake unto me  
Starlight and dewdrops  
Are awaiting thee..."

Roman goes back downstairs with an overnight bag, planning to sneak back to Peter's. He can't stop thinking about this afternoon and the outline of a plan they've created for their future. All he wants to do is crawl back into Peter's bed, that safe space where the two of them can be completely one. 

He is nearly out the door when he hears her voice behind him, her tone so sharp it cuts him right to the bone.

"Going somewhere, darling?"

Roman turns around to see Olivia standing like a statue of a Greek goddess lingering on the staircase. Their eyes meet and Roman feels her gaze pierce into him like 1,000 knives.

"Don't worry about it," Roman replies, his tone frigid.

Olivia's eyes narrow as she slinks down the stairs. She glides across the floor so gracefully it's almost as if her feet aren't even touching the ground. She stands in front of him, eyes never leaving his face.

"You just think I'm a fucking idiot, don't you?" 

Roman just stares her down, his entire body buzzing with anger. Part of him, a very minuscule part, wants to tell her everything, if only just to spite her, to rub it into her flawlessly ageless face, to watch the news make her shrivel up and cease to be a problem anymore. 

"It's that gypsy," she says with venomous disdain. "I can practically smell him on you. Such a vile scent."

Roman gets an inch away from his mother's face, the hint of Merlot on her breath not going undetected.

"You don't know what the fuck you're talking about," he hisses.

"Oh, I certainly don't," Olivia seethes. "You're not sneaking off to meet him now? Not on your way back to his bed?" 

Roman keeps his eyes focused dangerously on her. Olivia's face twists into a smirk.

"So, tell me..." she says, her tone mocking. "How is the little one?"

Roman's heart drops into his toes. Though he tries to appear unmoved, like her words have had no effect whatsoever, he can feel the color drain from his face right in front of her.

Olivia's smile spreads across her thin lips like a crocodile about to hone in on an unsuspecting prey.

"The fact that you still think you can hide things from me is truly quite endearing, my love," she quips. 

Then, before his eyes, Roman watches Olivia's expression distort into a raging storm. Her hand comes at him so fast, he can't even think to put up a defense before it strikes him across the face.

"How could you have the audacity to lie with his kind?" Olivia spits. "After all I've told you about that kind of filth! You crawl between his legs and now...you bear that filth within you, his bastard seed. What an embarrassment you are."

Though he's more than used to his mother's cruelty, her words cut him deeply, right through his heart. But, with great difficulty, he remains a stoic force against her. Showing weakness in front of her is as good as signing your own death warrant.

"Yes," Roman grumbles. "I did it with the sole purpose of shaming you."

"I certainly wouldn't put it past you," Olivia retorts. "When were you going to have the courtesy to tell me?" 

"Never," Roman shoots back.

Olivia's brow raises, amused. 

"Never, hmm? Well, it's not like you really hid it from me to begin with. I've known since you conceived the little mongrel. Or I suspected it, anyway. Like I said, that smell; you reeked of it. My suspicions only increased when I began to hear the chorus of retching from your bathroom every morning. You did try so hard to hide it, dear. I must commend you for that. But not quite hard enough."

Roman swallows hard, his face beginning to burn.

"Then, in the times you weren't quick enough to avoid me, I noticed your body growing to accommodate it and I knew for sure," she says, eyeing him viciously. "And you thought you were so clever, thinking you knew something I didn't." 

Roman can feel himself beginning to crumble. Of course she would know, she always knows. Nothing ever stays hidden from Olivia. She gets drunk on the power of knowing things she shouldn't and prides herself on her ability to hold people's weaknesses and secrets against them to get what she wants. 

Then he realizes why she didn't confront him about Peter and the baby before now; she likes having something on him, especially if he doesn't know she does. He's nothing more to her than a worm on the end of a hook.

"I'm leaving," Roman says simply, offering no further explanations. Like she needs them anyway. 

He turns to walk out the door and Olivia sinks her manicured claw into his arm.

"You're not fucking going anywhere!" she snaps. 

Roman whips around to face her. "I don't need your goddamn permission!" 

Olivia gets in an inch away from his face. "If you walk out of here to become a full time whore for that gypsy trash, you can forget about ever stepping foot back in."

"Look who's calling who a whore," Roman spits back. Olivia releases his arm as if it's just burned her, Roman taking some satisfaction in her raging expression.

He makes his way out the front door, never once looking back or breaking his stride. He unlocks his car door and pretends not to notice how Olivia follows him out the door, screeching her final threat.

"You may leave this house, this town, and this country, but I will always find you. You belong to me, Roman. You are mine. And you can't ever hide."


	6. Chapter 6

Peter hears Roman's car pull up in the trailer yard around 12:00 a.m. and hastily starts lighting the candles on the coffee table next to the bucket of chilled apple cider he sat out as a surprise. 

After Roman left to go home earlier, Peter ran to a convenient store fully intending to buy champagne, then feeling like a complete idiot when he remembered Roman can't drink. As he stood in the liquor aisle, holding the champagne bottle in his hands, a memory hit him so vividly, it almost knocked him over. 

The last time he and Roman saw each other before today was two weeks ago, on the last day of school. They both ditched before the final bell rang, taking off in Roman's car to some swanky hotel on the outskirts of town. 

Roman paid for a penthouse suite on the top floor. Peter remembers grabbing Roman by the waist, pushing him up against the wall and kissing every inch of him in the elevator as soon as the doors closed. In fact, they barely made it up to the room with all of their clothes on. 

After having their first round of rigorous sex, Peter suggested they order room service, and half an hour later (after their second round of sex) they were blessed with an enormous platter of lush strawberries and a bottle of champagne. Peter drank the bubbly with earnest and fed Roman strawberry after strawberry before having sex for a third time. 

And that third time is the one that sticks in Peter's mind right now. Though he was completely shocked when Roman told him he was pregnant, he can't pretend he didn't notice something was off about Roman that day. 

While Roman straddled him, Peter's eyes took him in, more intoxicated by the beauty before him than from the champagne. As he looked closer, he could see and feel subtle differences in his physique; his face was a bit fuller, his waist was softer and his usually trim, sculpted abdomen was beginning to bulge. 

Not that Peter was bothered by any of it; a little weight gain never hurt anybody, and nothing could make Roman less beautiful in his eyes. But as he thinks about that day now, he can't believe he hadn't put the pieces together before yesterday. Was he really so blinded by his lust he failed to recognize something so monumental and now so obvious?

"Do you need help finding anything, sir?" 

The voice startled Peter out of the memory as he whipped around to see the young girl behind the checkout counter looking at him with a tiny smile. 

He smiled back, embarrassed, and shook his head. "Uh, no. I got it, thanks."

She nodded and went back to messing with the buttons on her register. Peter looked down at the bottle of champagne still clutched in his hand and carefully placed it back on the shelf with a sigh. He walked down the aisle a little to the non-alcoholic beverages and opts for the bottle of sparkling apple cider. 

He grabbed the cider and began to make his way back up the aisle to the checkout counter when he realized something else he should’ve noticed on that day in the penthouse suite; Roman never once touched the champagne. 

~*~*~*~

Peter opens the door of the trailer for Roman, eager to get him inside so they can reignite the romance of the past afternoon. But as Roman draws closer, Peter's heart sinks as he hears the muffled sobbing. Peter rushes out into the yard to meet him. 

"Roman?" he says, trying to keep his voice calm, though panic is rising in his chest. Roman stops, waiting for Peter to get to him. He drops his overnight bag at his feet as Peter runs up to him and immediately cups his hot, tear-soaked face in his hands.

"What happened?" Peter asks. "Baby, tell me what's wrong."

Roman shakes his head in Peter's hands and sobs even harder. Peter pulls him into his arms and holds him tightly, beginning to shake himself.

"She knows," Roman's voice quivers. 

"What?" Peter urges.

"Olivia...she knows everything. We can't...we can't be here," Roman sobs. "We're not safe here, Peter."

Peter picks up Roman's bag from off the ground and starts to push him toward the trailer. "Come on. Let's get inside."

"We have to leave," Roman whimpers.

Once they make it inside the trailer, Peter steers Roman to sit on the couch, who only seems to grow hysterical at the sight of the candles and cider. 

After throwing Roman's bag in his bedroom, Peter goes into the bathroom to wet a washcloth and rushes back to the living room. He sits next to Roman and wraps an arm around him, carefully patting his face with the cold rag. 

"Roman," Peter says. "Please, talk to me."

Roman stops crying for a moment, takes a deep, shuttering breath and reaches for the bottle of cider on the table. He starts tearing the foil off the mouth of the bottle, but his hands are shaking so badly, he's having a hard time doing so. 

"Do you want me to get it?" Peter asks gently. Roman starts crying again and drops the bottle into Peter's waiting hands. 

"It's okay! Roman, it's fine. Just calm down, what is going on?" Peter asks frantically, taking Roman's face in his hands.

Roman seems to calm a bit at Peter's touch. He looks up at him, tears still filling up his eyes. "I'm sorry..."

"You don't have to be sorry," Peter soothes. "There's nothing to be sorry for. I just want to know what happened."

Roman takes the washcloth from Peter's hand and wipes his eyes. "I mean... I feel like I've ruined something here," he says, motioning toward the candles and the cider bucket. 

"Oh, this isn't... I just wanted to, you know... It's nothing," Peter stammers. "It doesn't matter. Just... will you tell me what's wrong?"

Roman sniffs, patting his hot cheeks with the washcloth and taking a couple of deep breaths. "Can I have a drink?"

Peter hastily tears the foil off of the cider bottle and grunts as he pulls the cork out. He pours cider into one of the champagne flutes he had laid out on the table and hands it to Roman, who quickly gulps it down. He sinks into the couch and Peter quickly follows suit, never taking his eyes off Roman's face.

"I went home," Roman starts, his voice weary. "And I couldn't make it out without running into my cunt of a mother. And...she knows everything."

Peter runs a hand through Roman's hair. "What do you mean?"

"She knows about you. She knows I'm pregnant," Roman says. "The whole fucking time, she knew."

"Roman, it's okay. We'll--" 

"No! She... You can't hide anything from her, and you can't hide anything in Hemlock Grove. We can't stay here." Roman says. 

"Look at me," Peter says. "Everything is going to be okay." 

"Peter, I don't want to be here. I don't want our baby to be raised here. I can't risk that bitch finding her. She's gonna find my baby and she's gonna take her away from me! I can't let that happen, Peter! I won't...I can't let..." Roman slips back into hysterics.

Peter takes Roman's face in his hands and places a kiss against his forehead. Roman breathes in and out calmly. "I just want...I want to give her a home. She needs to have a home, away from this fucking shithole. She won't be safe here."

"She will have a home. Wherever we are, she'll be home and she'll be safe. I'm not going to let anything happen to her...or to you. You hear me?" Peter says. 

Roman nods in Peter’s hands, a tiny smile playing across his lips. 

"We're a family,” Peter continues. “We're going to love this baby and make sure she has everything she could ever want. And I will personally tear Olivia to fucking shreds before she even has a chance to think about coming near us."

Roman laughs, the tears overflowing once again and gives Peter a hard kiss on the lips. "I love you," he says.

"And I love both of you," Peter replies, putting a hand on Roman's stomach. 

Peter sits up and refills Roman's glass with cider, then pours a glass for himself. They both take a few sips and sit quietly with their hands entwined. Finally, Roman let's out a sigh.

"What is it?" Peter says, his brows furrowing.

"I just want us to be established somewhere before she's born," Roman says.

"We'll figure it out," Peter says reassuringly.

"In six months?" Roman refutes.

"Six months? That's half a year!" Peter laughs at his own joke. "That's plenty of time."

"I just don't know what to do," Roman's voice cracks.

"Don't do anything right now. Let's just...be for a little bit, okay?" 

They both close their eyes and let the silence envelope them. Roman feels the knot in his stomach finally begin to loosen. It felt nice to forget the world for a little while. It had been so long since Roman felt genuinely happy. With Peter, it was effortless. 

Even before he practically proposed, Roman never really worried about his intentions. Peter is noble and kind and honorable and all things good; basically everything Roman considered himself not to be. 

And though he's certain Peter really wants to do the right thing, he can't help but wonder if he'd truly want to spend his life with him if he weren't pregnant. Roman knows Peter spoke the truth when he confessed his love, but marriage? What 18 year old boy really wants that?

Next to him on the couch, Peter has his own worries setting in. While being able to actually see the baby had been probably the most amazing thing he'd ever seen, it also hit him with a startling reality check. And he can feel himself harboring the same fears as Roman. 

What are they going to do?

They have to live somewhere, and it's not like they can shack up with Lynda in the trailer, though she would probably insist on it. She'd love a chance to be a live-in grandma. But Peter can't burden her with this. 

He knows Roman wants nothing more than to do this on his own. He wants to buy the nice house and be the responsible, providing father. And that wouldn't be an issue for him as the Godfrey's have more money than they know what to do with. 

But Peter? He comes from nothing. It would kill him not to be able to provide for their child. It's his job to protect his family, but what if he can't? His mind keeps asking the same questions and he can't see a solution, not one that makes sense, anyway.

Win the lottery? Strike oil and make millions? Sell some kidneys? 

No. The only sensible, attainable goal at this point is to get a decent paying job and hope for the best. Not a goal he's happy with, but it is what it is. If only he had longer to prepare for...

Suddenly, that afternoon in the penthouse suite with the strawberries and the untouched champagne comes to him as well. 

"Roman," Peter clears his throat. "how long did you know about the baby before you told me?"

Peter pretends not to notice how Roman immediately stiffens in his arms. Roman wiggles out of Peter's arms and sits up, leaning against his knees and avoiding Peter's watchful eyes.

"Roman?" Peter says, his voice unconsciously squeaking.

"About a month," Roman says so quietly, Peter barely hears him.

Peter's eyes bulge out of his head as he bolts forward to look at Roman.

"What?!" he cries, failing to keep his voice even. "You knew for a month and you didn't say anything? Why wouldn't you tell me??" 

Roman runs his hands down his face before looking at Peter. "I don't know! I... I wanted to tell you, and you deserved to know, I'm…I’m so sorry, Peter." 

Roman's eyes fill up with new tears, and Peter instantly feels guilty. 

"I just didn't want to believe it," Roman's voice cracks. "I took the tests, they were all positive, and I still didn't think it was real. And I could see it, I could feel it in my body, ya know, that there was something in there. I still tried to tell myself it was a mistake, but I knew, and I..."

Peter takes both of Roman's hands in his, which silences Roman instantly. They look into each other's eyes for a moment, the tears finally boiling over in Roman's. Embarrassed, he reaches up and hastily wipes them away. 

"I'm not upset. Really... I just wish you would've told me from the start. You wouldn't have had to go through any of that by yourself," Peter says.

"I've just had a really hard time coming to terms with this," Roman whispers. "And I didn't know what you would say."

"I would've said the exact same thing I’m saying to you now," Peter smiles. "I love you, and I'm going to do everything in my power to make sure you and our baby are taken care of."

"I was worried, if I told you…I'd lose you," Roman sniffs.

"Never," Peter says pressing his forehead against Roman's.

Peter then leans forward and blows out the candles on the table before standing.

"C'mon," he says, pulling Roman up from the couch by the hand. "We've had a long day. And I can't wait to get you back into that bed."

"After you," Roman smiles mischievously.

The two of them disappear down the hall of the trailer and into Peter’s room hand in hand, the fears and worries of the evening seemingly forgotten as they slip effortlessly into the safety of one another.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so, just a little warning here... This is when things start to fall apart. And the next few chapters are gonna be really sad and kinda dark. I didn't get super graphic with Roman's miscarriage, but graphic enough, I think. I wanted it to be accurate from a medical standpoint, and I hope it doesn't upset anybody. 
> 
> But it will get happy again! Eventually!

Three weeks passed and Peter and Roman found themselves in a domestic little routine.

They'd get up every morning, have a little breakfast (Peter would mostly just have black coffee and cigarettes while making Roman choke down a cereal with a lot of grains), pour over real estate listings (sometimes visiting a few locations) until lunch and then spend the rest of the afternoon and evening in Peter's bed.

On this particular evening, Peter lies propped on an elbow in bed watching a disgruntled looking Roman.

Something has been off about him today and Peter finds himself starting to worry. It's not unusual for Roman to be moody anyway, and now that he's pregnant, those hormones have got to be working overtime. The moods have never really bothered Peter anyway, he's sure he can handle whatever the next six months can throw at him.

It's something more than that, something physical, something just below the surface, but still deep enough to make Roman unreachable. Peter knows he can't push too hard, can't step over that boundary because if he does, Roman will just retreat further.

"You okay?" Peter asks for what must've been the 15th time that day.

Roman looks up at him once again with that semi-annoyed look, only this time his face scrunches up a bit before he replies, "Yes, Peter."

"I know I'm probably being an annoying shit about this and I'm sorry, but... I don't know, it just seems like something's wrong," Peter says carefully.

"Nothing's wrong," Roman sighs. "I mean...it's nothing."

"So, there is something," Peter lifts a brow.

Roman just shrugs and rubs a spot on his stomach in circles. "No, there isn't. I just don't feel very good. I haven't really felt good this whole pregnancy, so...pretty normal stuff." Roman laughs non-chalantly.

Roman sees Peter shift un-easily and continue to watch him with an intensity that makes him uncomfortable. "What?" Roman asks, eyes narrowed.

"You said you don't feel good, what do you mean? Do you just feel nauseous, or...?" Peter trails off when he notices how Roman is still rubbing his stomach in the same place. "You keep rubbing your stomach, does it hurt?"

Though he tries to hide it, Peter sees Roman's face scrunch up again before saying, "It's just cramps, Peter. And cramping is normal, I've been reading some stuff...and it's fine," Roman says, clearly wanting to drop the issue.

"How long have you been cramping? Did it just start?" Peter urges.

Roman winces slightly and keeps rubbing his stomach, avoiding Peter's gaze. "I don’t know! It's just been kinda off and on all day."

"All day??" Peter cries. "Why didn't you say anything? We could've come home instead of spending the entire fucking afternoon house hunting!"

"Oh yeah, I was really gonna bust the entire day over that," Roman says sarcastically. "'Honey, we should stop looking for a place to live because my stomach hurts and I have no idea why. I'm sure it has nothing to do with the fucking child growing inside me'."

"Roman, come on," Peter argues. "You always do this. You avoid things, you deny, or you walk around it. You never wanna face anything, I don't get it!"

"And what exactly am I avoiding? I'm pregnant, I don't feel good and I'm cramping a bit, it's not the end of the goddamn world, Peter. Relax," Roman snaps.

"But you can tell me, Roman! If something's wrong, you don't have to hide it! Jesus Christ, do you have to be in control of everything all the fucking time??" Peter yells, knowing right away that he's gone too far.

Roman shoots up in bed, anger rolling off of him like a dense fog, giving Peter the most resentful, piercing glare he's ever seen.

"I'm gonna tell you, for the last time...I'm fine," Roman says, his voice dangerously sharp.

Peter stares back at him, neither one of them breaking eye contact until, once again, Roman's face contorts, only for a second, but long enough for Peter to notice. When Peter gives him a pointed look, Roman looks away, his nose and eyes stinging with the arrival of frustrated tears.

"Roman..." Peter sighs. "I'm sorry, baby. Really, I..."

Peter tries to reach out to wrap an arm around him, but Roman is already making his way off of the bed. At the last second, Peter throws himself across the bed and is able to catch Roman's hand, planting Roman next to him. Thankfully, Roman doesn't try to fight him off.

"I don't want to fight," Peter says. "I didn't mean any of that, I'm sorry."

Roman looks at him, his eyes still misty. "I know you didn't mean it," he says quietly.

"I'm probably just worrying myself to death over nothing," Peter says. "But you've seemed so...off today, I don't know. I mean, if something feels wrong or anything...you know you can tell me. I want you to tell me. We're in this together, you know."

Roman's mouth lifts in a tiny half smile before he reaches down to give Peter a quick kiss.

"I'm okay, Peter," Roman says as he takes a hand and mimes rubbing it over his stomach. "It's just baby stuff."

Peter nods in understanding, staring up at him wide-eyed. Roman starts to twist his hand out of Peter's.

"Aaaaand I’m going to the bathroom," Roman says. Peter lets go of his hand and gives Roman a quirky smile as he watches him saunter out of the room.

Once Roman makes it out into the hallway and out of Peter's sight, another cramp hits him and he allows himself to feel it full force. He makes it into the bathroom and shuts the door firmly behind him before letting out a groan of pain.

Peter was right about one thing; Roman avoids. And in this instance, he did it for no other reason than to keep Peter from worrying.

The cramping had actually started last night. They weren't any cause for alarm, just little twinges he got from time to time, and figured he was overly tired and his body needed him to sleep. This morning, he was still cramping a bit, but shrugged it off since nothing else seemed out of the ordinary.

They got up early and had their normal breakfast (or morning coffee and smoke, in Peter's case) and immediately began their daily ritual of house hunting. It wasn't until the third location in the next town over, a dinky one bedroom apartment that smelt vaguely of stale cigarettes and old takeout, that the real pain began.

Roman had been doing a lot of internet surfing on pregnancy and read from several sources that cramping was to be expected in the first trimester as a result of the body getting used to its new inhabitant. And it wasn't like he hadn't experienced cramps before today; he'd felt them especially so in the first month.

These felt no different, until suddenly they did. They were infrequent, only a pang here and there, for a few hours. However, their intensity grew as the afternoon wore on into evening and it got to the point where Roman had trouble hiding his discomfort.

Of course he was concerned, but he tried to silence it. He told himself over and over that it was nothing and everything was fine. He even found himself starting to believe it until Peter took notice and then he immediately tried to push the attention off of him and convince Peter that he was just being paranoid and suspicious as usual.

_If we just ignore it, it'll go away..._

He never intended to start a fight, but he did what he had to. Then he slipped away to the bathroom on his newest excuse; he just has to clear the plumbing, that's where the pain was coming from. He's probably even constipated! He read that constipation was common in pregnancy also, go figure!

So, he sat on the throne, looking all around the dimly lit bathroom, trying to focus on anything but the sharp pain that suddenly tears through him. Nothing else in his body signals a need to relieve himself. He takes in a big breath and exhales it slowly.

_Just ignore it._

He looks down at his feet and finally he sees it. And he starts shaking, a deep throbbing tremble that penetrates his bones. He feels a sob building up in his chest, but his throat is too dry for it to go anywhere. He rips a mile of toilet paper from the wall and grips it tightly in a wad, then starts pawing, tearing, scrubbing at it; it won't go away.

His lungs emit a noise long before he actually hears it. It comes out as a scream, a crazed desperate cry...for him.

"PETER!!!"

Within seconds, the sound of running footsteps comes thundering down the hall and stops in front of the closed door, which is flung open with violent force.

Peter stands in front of Roman with wild, scared eyes, positioned like he's prepared to turn and rip someone's throat out. He softens a bit when he sees Roman, standing timidly with his pants around his ankles, shaking so hard, he has to hold on to the walls to keep steady.

Immediately, Peter goes to him, placing two strong hands on Roman's torso to control the trembling.

"Roman," he says, fear creeping into his tone. "What's wrong??"

Roman's breath shudders as he struggles to answer, tears boiling in his eyes as he realizes he can't avoid or hide anymore.

_...it'll go away._

"Roman!" Peter practically shouts.

And it just falls out.

"I'm bleeding..."


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The beginning of the sadness... I'm sorry.

The station wagon roars down a rural road, running at least 30 miles over the legal limit. Peter's hand clamps the steering wheel so tight, his fingers feel numb, and with the other hand, he tries Destiny again on his cell.

"C'mon, Dee! Goddammit, answer the phone!" Peter growls, pushing the gas pedal down even more.

Roman sits in the passenger seat, silent and unmoving, his eyes staring lifelessly out the windshield. Since they left the trailer, the cramping has intensified, or maybe it just feels that way since he's no longer trying to ignore it. Since he saw the blood...

"Fuck!" Peter yells, slamming the phone against the steering wheel. Roman jumps slightly at the outburst, and Peter immediately softens when he sees the panic in Roman’s eyes.

He reaches over and runs a hand through Roman's hair, and then gently down his face.

"It's okay, baby. I'm gonna get us there. I'm gonna get you help," he chants.

Roman feels tears welling in his eyes, but he scrunches his face and wills them away.  
He won't cry now. He won't accept this.

Suddenly, the cell phone rings and Peter answers it before it can even ring twice.

"Shit, Destiny! I've been trying to call you for the last 10 minutes, what the fuck are you doing??" Peter shouts.

"Jesus, Peter, I just didn't have my phone on me, fucking chill!" Destiny snaps impatiently over the phone.

"Whatever, are you home right now?" Peter asks, his tone lightening.

"Yeah, why? What's wrong?" Destiny replies.

"We're on our way, Roman's...." Peter starts to say, but finds himself choking on the words. "Roman's bleeding."

"Okay, just breathe, Peter. When did it start?" Destiny says, her tone suddenly all business.

"I don't know exactly...we just noticed it. He's cramping, too. Said he has been most of the day, but I think it's getting worse," Peter fills her in.

There's a heavy silence over the phone, which all but confirms Peter's growing fears. He tries to push down the rising bile in his throat.

About that time, a razor sharp pain rips through Roman's belly and he cries out, pressing both hands into his stomach. The pain is like a ripple effect throughout his entire body, hitting hard like a jackhammer in the center and spreading to every muscle and nerve with a tremendous ache. He tries to close himself off from it like he had been all day, but he no longer can.

"Peter..." he pants, his voice breaking.

Peter throws his arms across Roman, his shaking hand landing on his stomach. Roman latches onto Peter's arm like it's his lifeline.

"We're almost there, Roman, I promise!" Peter soothes, voice unsteady. Roman glances at him with such a hopeless fear in his face, Peter can’t breathe.

"I don't know what to do, Dee..."

"It's alright, Peter, you're coming to the right place. Just...try to keep him calm, okay?" Destiny says, her voice sad and full of sympathy.

Peter doesn't want to hear sympathy. Sympathy is for a loss. They haven't lost anything, and if Peter has any say in it, they're not going to.

"Okay," Peter quivers.

"I'll be all ready for you when you get here," she says softly.

"Okay," Peter says again, and promptly hangs up.

Peter tosses the phone in the floorboard as Roman tightens his grip on Peter's arm, groaning softly in pain. Peter's lip trembles and he fights the urge to let the tears come. He already knows what's happening, and figures Roman probably does too. They just can't bear to admit it to each other.

"You're okay," Peter whispers. "You're gonna be okay."

~*~*~*~

Destiny is already standing outside her apartment with the door wide open, waiting for them when they arrive. Peter tries holding Roman upright as they make their way up the staircase. Destiny comes rushing to stand at the top of the stairs and they've almost made it to her when Roman doubles over and cries out.

Peter immediately stops, but Destiny comes down to meet them, taking hold of Roman's arm.

"It's okay, honey. You're okay," she says gently to Roman, then looks up at Peter. "Let's get him inside, hurry up."

The two carry Roman into the apartment and Destiny barks at Peter to take him to the bedroom as she slams the door behind them.

Once they make it to her bedroom, Peter carefully lowers Roman onto the bed. Peter kneels down in front of Roman and that's when he notices it, the dark spot beginning to pool in the seat of Roman's jeans. It's small, but still there and enough to make his breath catch in his throat. It's only getting worse. He forces himself to look away, or else he might scream.

Peter cups his hands around Roman's fevered, damp cheeks.

"It's alright," Peter whispers. "Breathe...just stay with me and breathe."

Destiny runs into the room, and Peter plants a quick kiss on Roman's forehead before standing up and out of the way. Almost immediately, she notices the stain on Roman's jeans, but chooses to stay silent.

"Roman? Can you look at me?" Destiny says. "Tell me what you're feeling. Where does it hurt?"

Roman shifts his eyes up to her and pushes his fingertips into his lower stomach.

"Here," Roman whimpers. "Like deep inside my belly, and in my back. It’s everywhere.”

Destiny's eyes dart to Peter, the look on her face hard as stone. Peter feels his stomach sink.

"Peter said you've been having pain most of the day?" she says.

Roman quietly nods.

"Okay," she says, her tone unmistakably sad. She leans over and turns on the portable ultrasound sitting on her bedside table. "Lay down for me. Lift your shirt and lower your pants...like last time."

And like last time, Roman does as he's told, only this time he winces as he starts to lie down and lets out another groan. Peter comes to sit down on the bed, wiping the sweat from Roman's brows. Roman looks up at him and their eyes lock, Roman's gaze practically begging Peter to tell him this is all a mistake. Peter's eyes just fight to hold in the tears.

Destiny removes the squirt bottle of gel from its little caddy and squeezes a hefty dollop onto Roman's stomach and wastes no time pressing the transducer into his skin. While Peter's eyes go straight for the screen, Roman stares up at the ceiling.

Destiny moves the transducer with painstakingly slow pace all over Roman's abdomen, staring hard at the screen. Peter watches the black and gray and white swirls dance all around in hopeless abandon. He can't see anything, and his anxiety starts to rise the longer Destiny searches; what she's searching for, he's not really sure.

Roman can't bring himself to look at the screen in front of him, can't bear to face the outcome he's so certain of. This is all his fault. He was so hell-bent on keeping control, on making sure Peter wouldn't worry about him, he refused to acknowledge fairly obvious signs that something was wrong.

Could all of this had been preventable if he said something as soon as the pain started? He wants to ask so many questions, but he's too afraid to hear the answer. He avoided this from the beginning, just like Peter said, so he can by-all-means avoid it now; avoid all this pain, avoid the worried, panicked looks Peter and Destiny keep throwing at him, avoid the reality of what he's done.

Peter keeps his eyes locked on the screen and finally, just as clearly as he had before, he sees his child form out of all the black and gray and white. _There she is! Our girl is okay!_

But, unlike before, it all looks different. There's no flutter, no dance between his daughter and the movement of Destiny's transducer. There's only stillness. _No_.

Destiny sees it the same time Peter does and when she looks at him, she gives a shake of her head so slight, he nearly misses it. And just like that, Peter's heart rips in two.

"I'm so sorry, Roman..." Destiny says just above a whisper. "There's no heartbeat."

Roman hears the words, but he doesn't process them. He just keeps his eyes focused on the ceiling, his mind telling him that none of this is real; it just can’t be.

He looks to Peter, who is practically convulsing with the effort to stay composed. When Peter sees Roman looking, he places a loving hand on Roman's face. When their eyes meet, all Roman sees is the unmistakable reality, the absolute devastation and emptiness of loss.

"Peter," Roman whimpers. "No..."

Peter's lip trembles as he strokes Roman's hair and shakes his head sadly.

And that's all it takes. Everything crumbles in the blink of an eye. The sob bubbles up so quickly in Roman's throat, he feels like he's choking. Unconsciously, his entire body begins trembling violently.

A wave of tears blurs his vision and his head arches back on the pillow as he throws a hand over his mouth. And he screams.

Peter latches onto Roman, holding him tightly and smoothing his hair in a vain attempt at comfort. His eyes start to well up as he helplessly watches the gravity of this horrible, unbelievable blow hit Roman like a freight train.

"I'm sorry, baby, I'm so sorry!" Peter cries over Roman's agonized screams. He presses his forehead against Roman's and lies on top of him, as if he's trying to shield him from all of this pain.

Destiny stands away from the bed, her heart wrenching. Her clairvoyance has enabled her to sense and see a lot of awful, unimaginable things in her life, things that often tend to rear their ugly heads without warning in the dead of night, and rob her of a peaceful sleep.

This, however, was something else entirely. It wasn’t like she hadn’t dealt with miscarriages in her years of midwifery. Off the top of her head, she could think of at least five that she had handled, four of them occurring super early on in the pregnancy, and one that, unfortunately, happened much later on. Either way, she was able to help the parents through the medical side of it and be an emotional life raft for their grief without a hitch. It was old hat, not a problem.

But not Peter…not Roman. This wasn’t just some random couple paying her for her services like she was used to; this was her family. And watching them now, their hearts being ripped apart in front of her, as they come to realize they've just lost what meant everything to them is almost too much to bear. She feels she has no business here, that this moment is not meant for her eyes. She's no longer their midwife, but an intruder.

"I... I'm so sorry for your loss. Excuse me," she says, and swiftly walks out of the room.

She doesn't go far though, stopping just outside of the bedroom and slumping against the wall, in case she's needed. And once she's out of sight, she breaks down, too.

Roman gulps for air as the sobs wrack his body. Peter continues to run his fingers through Roman's hair, muttering words of solace between whimpers of his own. "It's okay" he tells him, repeating it over and over like a prayer.

And though he's saying the words and wanting so badly to believe them, he knows it's not okay, and in this moment, he's not sure it ever will be again.

"P-Peter..." Roman weeps.

"Yeah..?" Peter says, quickly swiping tears from his eyes.

"...W-why...? We just...just saw her! Her heart was beating, she was moving!" Roman bellows. "She was f-fine! She was okay, Peter! What happened to her?! Why did this happen to her?!"

He was hysterical now, and Peter knew there was little he could to calm him. He just continued to hold Roman close to him, attempting to pour as much peace and strength into him as possible, kept trying to find the right words to say though there weren't any.

"I don't know," Peter sighs, stroking Roman's hair as he continued to sob and shake and ask Peter why. And Peter would shake his head in silence and let his own silent tears fall freely.

Roman's pain is so raw and so palpable, it can't help but be felt. Peter too wants to know why, WHY did this happen? Why her? Why them? They'd put so much hope into this child, and in an instant, their hope is ripped away from them with nothing but a blood trail in it's wake.

It's too much, much too much, to take.

A few minutes pass and they stay just like that, latched onto each other as if they're at risk of being lost as well. Eventually, the room grows quiet around them, with Roman's screams diminishing to shaky whimpers and sharp sniffs. Peter is thankful for that, at least.

He feels Roman's body begin to still beneath his touch, but he himself starts to fidget, needing to get up, needing to move away, to get out of this room.

As if it were a task sent by God himself, Peter notices that Roman's shirt is still up around his rib cage and the conductive gel is smeared in congealed globs on his belly.

"Hey," Peter says softly to Roman, who only sniffs in response. "Let's get you cleaned up, huh?"

Peter gets up from the bed, thankful to have something to focus on, if only for a moment. He grabs three or four tissues from the box on Destiny's bookshelf, wads them in his fist and gingerly starts cleaning the gel off Roman's stomach.

For a split second, he catches Roman watching him clean up the mess, but in the same breath, Roman covers his face with both hands and quietly begins weeping again. Peter quickly looks away, knowing to witness it much more would be to fall apart completely, and he needs to be strong.

He shifts his gaze to look at something, anything else and his eyes almost immediately land on the ultrasound machine. The high-pitched frequency of electricity it emits signals it's still on, yet the little upside down triangle shape that once housed their baby's form is completely blank. It almost seems like a window into the machine itself, and the parallel Peter forms in his mind between the emptiness of that machine and Roman, makes him want to throw up.

Once he finishes cleaning off the gel, he tugs Roman's shirt back over his navel and stands over him, once again looking him up and down like he's afraid he's missed something. At least on the outside, Peter can fix things.

Peter gingerly grazes Roman's hand with his fingers. Roman reluctantly uncovers his face, now red and swollen enough to match his inflamed eyes, and sets his steely gaze on Peter.

"I'm gonna go find Destiny. I think she wanted to give us some privacy, but we should probably talk to her now," Peter says. "She'll know what to do. Let her take care of you."

Roman doesn't respond with anything other than the slightest nod of agreement before shifting to lay on his side, facing away from Peter. Peter feels the sting of tears coming on as he saunters out of the bedroom, only to find Destiny lingering just outside the doorway.

When she sees him, Destiny grabs Peter and pulls him into a tight embrace. And for the first time since this whole thing started, Peter allows himself to no longer be strong, and he breaks down sobbing on Destiny's shoulder.

"I'm so sorry, sweetie. I really am." Destiny's voice breaks and she's soon crying again, along with him.

"Oh, God..." Peter moans, anguished. "He's never going to come back from this!"

Destiny rubs his back. "Shh, shh... It's gonna take time. Just give him time."

Peter sniffs and hastily wipes his face and frees himself from Destiny's arms. He clears his throat and looks at her as she dabs the wetness from her own eyes.

"What happened?" he asks, his voice small.

Destiny just shrugs and shakes her head. "It's hard to say. It could've been any number of things," she bites her lip. "And then sometimes, there is no explanation. These things just...happen."

Peter scoffs. "Of course..."

He leans to one side to peer into Destiny's bedroom to quickly check on Roman, who has now curled into himself on the bed, and that heartbroken, hopeless feeling starts creeping back in.

Peter then turns back to Destiny and sighs. "What do we do now?"

Destiny cups her hand around Peter's cheek, a gesture Peter finds great comfort in.

"Be there for one another," Destiny says. "He needs you, Peter. And he's gonna need all of the love and support in the world right now. And I know he'll be there for you, too."

Peter just nods and runs a hand down his face.

"You're going to make it through this, somehow, someway," Destiny says. "Losing a child is the hardest thing for a couple to go through. I'd never wish it on anyone...especially you."

Peter shakes his head. "I just can't believe this..." his voice quivers. "It doesn't make any sense. I mean, a few weeks ago, she was fine, wasn't she?"

"Yes, she was perfect," Destiny says, instantly regretting her choice of words.

"Perfect," Peter whispers glumly.

Destiny then turns to look in the bedroom herself, making sure Roman is alright...or at least as "alright" as he can be. Seeing him so isolated and closed off from them makes her heart hurt. She doesn't want him to be alone right now.

"I wish I could tell you why this kinda shit happens. And sadly, this was probably one of those instances where it just wasn't meant to be. It's so unfair...and if I could, I would bring her back to you in a heartbeat," Destiny soothes. "But...I can't. And I can't explain why this happened. I can't give you all the answers you're looking for."

Peter's eye catches movement coming from the bedroom, and he watches as slowly, Roman sits up on the bed, his face contorting in pain with the effort. He swings his long legs over the edge of the bed and rests his elbows on his knees, burying his face in his hands. Within a few seconds, his shoulders begin violently trembling.

Destiny puts a hand on Peter's shoulder as they both stand silently watching Roman fall apart.

"What I can promise you is that I'm going to take the best care of Roman possible. I'm gonna be with him every step of the way, give him anything he needs."

Peter wraps his arms around Destiny and he feels a sob squeeze his throat as he says "Thank you..."

Destiny holds him as tight as she can.

"I love you," she says. "And you're not alone in this. Neither of you are."


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We get to see a little of the BEAST in Peter in this one! This is where most of the angst and tension starts between Peter and Roman. I wish I could say it gets better from here...

Destiny sits on the edge of her antique claw foot bathtub, letting the warm stream of water from the faucet rush through her fingers. She and Peter were able to convince Roman that sitting in a bath would probably do him the most good, both for pain management and to clean himself up a bit. 

Plus the bleeding wasn't too terribly heavy at the moment, so now would be as a good a time as any. She was fairly sure that his cramps had already turned into mild contractions; in fact, she knew they had as soon as the boys arrived and Roman nearly collapsed in pain on the stairs. She knew what was happening right away, but still hoped she was wrong.

She concentrated on the water collecting in the bottom of the tub to give Roman his privacy as Peter helped him undress, but keeping her ears perked for any sign of distress. 

Already, she's worried. When she and Peter convened in the bedroom to talk to Roman about what their next move should be, she found he was mostly catatonic, aside from the sporadic spells of crying, and making just the barest of attempts to show he was listening to them. 

She wasn't offended, of course. After the heavy blow he's just taken, she'd probably be more concerned if he weren't acting a mess. But his silence, the almost complete absence of words is what is really concerning. She remembers Peter saying Roman would never come back from this, and she finds herself wondering if perhaps he was right. 

Granted, he's in shock, but still. 

As for Roman, it's more than shock; it's shame. Right now, stripping down to nothing but his bare skin in front of Destiny doesn't even make him blush. He's too sad, too tired, too broken to even care if she looks at him. 

All he can think about is how he's ruined everything, yet again. How could he have ever believed he could be a father? How was he supposed to care for his daughter when he couldn't even keep her alive while she was inside him? He was such a fucking idiot. An idiot and a failure. 

His body goes rigid as he feels Peter undo his pants and slip them past his hips. He can feel Peter's eyes on him, boring into his flesh like needles, with a gaze that practically begs for his attention. 

But Roman can't look at him, can't bear to see the disappointment, the distress, the possible resentment this has caused. Of course Peter has to hate him. If Roman hadn't been such a fucking control freak and just admitted something felt wrong, they could've gotten here sooner, could've stopped it...could've saved her. 

Destiny said there was no way to prevent it from happening, and nothing could halt it once it started, but Roman can't accept that. There had to have been something she could do, some kind of gypsy potion or magic spell she could've concocted, anything to keep his baby alive. 

Maybe it doesn't work like that. Then again, maybe it does. But now, he'll never know. 

"Can you lift your foot up for me, babe?" Peter says, tapping Roman's calf. 

Roman robotically lifts his up his foot so Peter can slip the leg of his pants off of him. And once that is done, he lifts the other foot for the same treatment. Peter tosses Roman's pants out of the bathroom, and slips his fingers under the waistband of his boxers. Then, as if it's some instinct, Roman pushes Peter's hand away. 

"Roman..." The hurt in Peter's voice not at all masked. 

"Sorry," Roman says quickly, truly not understanding why he did that, and certainly not meaning to. "I--I don't..."

"It's okay," Peter says gently. "You can do it."

And Roman does just that, easily slipping his soiled boxers down to his ankles and stepping out of them. Peter does his best not to even glance at them as he tosses them away with Roman's pants. 

Roman starts to take off his shirt, but is suddenly hit with a cramp so strong, he doubles over and cries out. Peter immediately grabs ahold of him and Destiny flies off the edge of the tub to come stand next to them. She puts an arm around Roman's shoulders, out of Peter's grasp, and leads him to the tub. Peter stands with his arms still out, holding nothing but air.

"Breathe through it," Destiny soothes. "Just breathe, Roman." Destiny then breathes in deep and exhales slowly through the "o" of her lips, and Roman quickly follows suit. 

Roman grips the edge of the tub and squeezes his eyes shut as he keeps breathing over the pain that builds momentum and continues to roll over him. Destiny starts to lift his shirt up over his back and he hardly notices as she slides it over his head and down his arms. 

What he does notice, however, is the droplets of blood dripping from his body and hitting the white floor tiles. The sight of it makes him tremble and he tightens his hold on the rim of the tub as a broken sob escapes his throat. 

Destiny's eye catches the splash of red and feels her heart sink. She places her hands on Roman's arms to steady him as she sees his shoulders shake.

"It's alright," she says. "Let's get you in the bath, okay?"

Roman nods through his tears and carefully lifts a leg over and into the warm water, followed by the other leg, and lets Destiny hold his arm to lower him down. As soon as his body hits the water, he finds alleviation, letting out a moan of relief. Once fully emerged in the relaxing pool, he leans his head back and breathes steadily. 

"There you go. Just relax," Destiny says before she turns to Peter, who stands by the doorway with a glowering expression. She gives him a questioning look as he gathers Roman's stained pants and boxers off the floor.

"Should've brought him some more clothes," Peter mutters. 

"I can wash them," Destiny offers, but Peter shakes his head.

"I'll just run to the trailer, get him some clean ones. These are ruined anyway," he replies. 

Destiny puts a hand firmly on Peter's shoulder. "Might do you some good to get out for a bit. Get some air, ya know?" She looks over her shoulder at Roman, who now has his eyes closed, finally looking peaceful for the first time since this horrible mess began. 

"He's alright, Peter. I've got him, we'll be fine if you want to step out. He'll understand."

Peter lets out a sigh and rubs the bridge of his nose. "Fuck, I don't even know what time it is. Feels like it's been hours."

Destiny glances at the watch that nestles among the dozens of beaded bracelets and chains that hang from her wrist. "A little after nine," she quips.

"Alright," he says, walking back into the bathroom. He squats by the bathtub and gently runs a hand through Roman's damp hair. Roman's eyes pop open and he turns to look at Peter with a dreamy expression.

"Hey," Peter smiles, and is relieved to see Roman give him a tiny half smile in return. "I'm gonna run home and grab you some clean clothes, okay? Just relax and enjoy your bath. Destiny is gonna be right here with you." 

Roman hears Peter's words, feels Peter's hand in his hair and his lips planting the light kiss on his forehead, but the look in Peter's eyes when he stands up to leave him makes Roman feel as if he's already gone. 

"Are you coming back?" 

At Roman's fearful voice, Peter feels an unexplainable sense of anger fill the pit of his stomach. He whips around, his eyes narrowed dangerously at Roman, disbelieving he would entertain such a ridiculous notion, and the words fall out before he can stop them. 

"Why the hell would you ask me that?"

Roman timidly shrinks down into the water, like he's a child taking a scolding. The wild flicker in Peter’s eyes reminds Roman of when the wolf comes out, but it's not quite the same. To watch Peter turn into the monster within is the most beautiful and sensual process Roman has ever seen. He considers himself lucky to bear witness to a change so intimate.

But this is something different. This isn't the uncontrollable anger of the beast as it fights it's way out of Peter to the surface, the kind of rage that isn't geared toward anything but the will to break free. This is aimed directly at Roman, and he finds himself cowering under a blanket of rose colored water. 

"Why wouldn't I come back, Roman?" Peter snaps impatiently.

"Peter," Destiny warns, stepping forward. 

"No, answer me," Peter presses, his agitated voice raising higher with every word. "How could you even think that? I mean, you're fucking losing our baby, where am I gonna--"

"Peter!" 

Destiny's shrill voice breaks Peter out of his unprovoked trance of rage and guilt instantly befalls him as he notices Roman bracing himself through another contraction, tears falling from his eyes into the bathwater.

Peter starts to walk back to the tub, fully preparing to drop to his knees and beg Roman's forgiveness, but Destiny grabs his arm and yanks him out into the hallway.

Once they make it into the living room, she practically tosses him into the coffee table. 

"What the fuck is wrong with you?!" she cries. 

Peter rubs both hands down his face and groans, feeling the shame boil the blood in his cheeks. Mindlessly, he starts pacing around the room.

"I don't know...I don't know," Peter mumbles. "God I can't believe I just did that, I don't even know why I got so pissed, I don't know what's wrong here, I don't know what to do..." 

Destiny briskly grabs Peter's shoulders and she swings him around to face her. She gives them a hard, tight squeeze despite her docile expression. 

"Listen to me," Destiny says. "He didn't mean anything by that, okay? He's not insinuating a goddamn thing. Everything that comes out of his mouth from here on out is coming from a place of extreme vulnerability. You've got to understand that. And if you can't, then I can't rightfully allow you to be here."

Peter is immediately on the defense, and starts to protest, but Destiny is quick to silence him before he has a chance to fight back.

"I know you're the child's father, I know you love Roman. And I know you're my family, but right now, first and foremost, I am his midwife. I am here to provide medical care and ensure he's in an adequate environment where he can heal. If you can't be a part of what is supposed to be a safe, nurturing environment for him, you're not going to be."

Peter buries his face in his hands as a horrid sob breaks from his throat. He pushes past Destiny and hurls his fist at the door frame, the wood cracking upon contact. He turns around, fighting for air, and Destiny takes him into her arms, where he falls apart. 

When he calms down a few minutes later, Peter pulls himself away from her and wipes the evidence of his breakdown from his face.

"Everyone is a little on edge tonight, alright? You're both devastated, you're scared, you're tired; none of this is abnormal. Like I said before, this is one of the hardest things a couple can go through," Destiny sighs. "I need to you to know right up front that this is going to get much worse before it gets better, at least until he...passes the baby."

Peter's stomach lurches forward and he has to press a hand to his mouth to keep from vomiting all over the hard wood. 

"This will not be a quick process, either. It's most likely going to take several hours, maybe even a few days until he passes everything. I could still see the baby on the ultrasound, so...it'll be a while."

Slowly, Peter nods, trying to wrap his head around it all and wanting to understand, but also not wanting to hear any more. With every word Destiny says, Peter feels something tighten around his heart, like a boa constrictor testing its strength. All he wants is for her to stop talking. 

Peter rubs his knuckles, bright red and swollen from striking the door frame and looks at the door, wanting with every fiber in him to be out of this apartment, but not wanting to leave Roman behind, especially after the way he lashed out at him. 

In no way, shape, or form did Roman deserve that, and from Peter no less. If he loves him so much, why would he get so irrationally angry over a question that was not in the least bit malicious? 

"Peter," Destiny says gently. "Just go." 

Peter meets her eyes, but only for a second. Taking a deep breathe, he pulls the car keys out of his pocket, and briskly walks out the door.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: Part of this chapter is a bit more graphic, but I promise it doesn't get too bad. There is a LOT of distress and angst. Roman and Peter are both going through so many emotions, and we all know they don't handle emotions well. It's a very sad chapter, to say the least.

It's nearing 10:00 and Peter drives slowly, with all of the windows completely rolled down. The breeze whips his hair in every direction, occasionally hitting him in the eyes, but he's not in the least bit bothered.  
  
He moves the steering wheel lazily with one hand and glides along without even thinking about it; he could drive this road blindfolded. For the first time this evening, he's able to push Roman and the baby out of his mind, instead deciding to focus on his surroundings and nothing else.  
  
Out the windshield, he glances at the sky, so clear and so black, the stars shine like diamonds. There's so much peace and serenity in it, he could cry. 

But there's been enough crying tonight.  
  
By the time he makes it to the trailer, he's almost too exhausted to even go inside. He parks the car, not bothering to kill the engine, and just sits there, staring numbly out the window.  
  
He could so easily shift into reverse, turn back onto that road and just keep going. Never slowing down, never turning around, never stopping. The pain wouldn't ever be able to catch up to him, and it would be as if this tragedy never happened.  
  
But... It has happened. Roman happened, this baby happened, their loss happened. All of that happened and nothing can ever change it.  
  
Finally, he cuts the engine and makes his way to the trailer, his head feeling like a 50 pound weight balancing on his shoulders as he walks. Stumbling through the door, he glances around the living room with weary eyes and is hit with an overwhelming realization.  
  
Everything looks exactly as they'd left it; Roman's dirty cereal bowl lies on top of the real estate ads that are spread out on the coffee table, a couple of Peter's shirts are hung to dry over the kitchen chairs, and the lamp next to the window is still shining, as they forgot to turn it off in their panic to get to Destiny's.  
  
All of it is the same as it was, like their entire world didn't just crumble into a million pieces. The sight of it makes Peter feel physically sick. And the next thing he knows, he's flipping the coffee table - cereal bowl and all - upside down, the sound of shattering glass ringing in his ears.  
  
The kitchen chairs come down next, hitting the floor with a thunderous crash and his shirts fly across the living room. The recliner is pulled down with surprising ease, snapping off one of the legs on the coffee table as it lands heavily on top of it.     
  
He stomps over to the dishes on the kitchen counter - some clean, some dirty - and flings them over the edge with such force, they fly into the adjacent wall, breaking into pieces on contact. He turns on his heels and heads for the bedroom in such a blind rage, he's nearly knocked to his knees when he halts in front of the bathroom.  
  
Grabbing either side of the doorway, he stands and looks into the bathroom, his mind conjuring the vision of Roman so clearly, it’s as if he’s watching it on a movie screen. Just as he remembers, Roman stands before him in the most vulnerable state he's ever seen him in, with such a heartbreaking fear in his eyes.  
  
His ears fill with the sound of Roman's cries for him, the wrenching crack in his voice as he uttered the horrid words they both knew spelled disaster.  
  
_"I'm bleeding..."_  
  
Shaking the vision of Roman out of his head, Peter falls through the doorway and catches himself on the vanity. Breathing heavily from his rampage throughout the trailer, he hastily turns on the faucet and splashes cold water over his forehead and cheeks. He lifts his head up to look at his reflection in the mirror, but only for a second, as he rams his fist right into the center of his face.  
  
He quickly pulls his fist back and looks at the shards of glass sticking out from between his knuckles, the blood rapidly streaking down his hand and arm. He glances up and observes the now ruined mirror, with its glass looking like a vast, intricate spider web, and he feels a sense of pride in the damage he's done.   
  
Carefully, he begins picking the glass out of his hand, hissing at the sting it brings. With each sliver removed, his hand turns more red and his senses become overwhelmed with the scent of copper. He tosses the glass into the sink and runs his wounded hand under cold water, the cuts screaming with pain.  
  
But for this pain, he's grateful. As he watches the blood tinged water run down the drain, he finds it fitting and only fair that he bleeds in the same room on the same night.

~*~*~*~

It takes Peter much longer to get back to Destiny's than he planned. But, seeing as destroying his home and cutting the shit out of his hand wasn't on the agenda, it's well past midnight by the time he makes it back. Not to mention, it felt good just being away from all of this for a bit.  
  
But, he knows he can't hide forever, and it's not fair to Roman for him to be so selfish. He just wishes he knew what to do, knowing there really isn't anything to do except be Roman's emotional support, which he's always been horrible at.  
  
On top of that, he really doesn't know what to expect as far as Roman's concerned. Roman has always been overly temperamental and has never been one to easily accept help or support from anyone, though he usually tends to let his guard down around Peter.  
  
This situation, however, is much different, and he knows the depth of Roman's distress could be detrimental to both of them if not properly handled. He's already feeling that he's not needed or wanted, but he's not sure it's justifiable considering his own vulnerability.  
  
He knows Roman wants him, but maybe just needs a little breathing room, like Peter had when he went to the trailer. Roman hasn't been left alone since they arrived at Destiny's. Hopefully, he's asleep and able to finally have a bit of peace tonight.  
  
With his good hand, he carries a large duffel bag containing clothes and a few personal items for each of them and laboriously heaves it up the apartment steps. He opens the door to Destiny's and nearly jumps out of his skin as he's met with the sound of a piercing scream; it's Roman.  
  
The duffel bag hits the floor with a thud and Peter runs to the back of the apartment, following the agonized cries to the bathroom. He skids to a stop in the doorway, and the breath is ripped from his lungs at the scene before him.  
  
Roman, out of the bath and wearing the white t-shirt he came in with a towel wrapped around the lower half of his body, lies on the bathroom floor, writhing in Destiny's arms. And underneath them, the white floor tiles are heavily smeared with blood.  
  
"Shh, Roman, shh..." she soothes, but is barely heard over Roman's sobs.

Peter immediately makes his way to Roman, but before he can get too close, Roman notices him and throws an arm out, pointing a hard finger at Peter.  
  
"GET OUT!!" he screams, his voice sharp as a blade.  
  
Peter takes a step back, his stomach sinking and tears threatening to erupt from his eyes. Roman hates him; he hates him for the awful things he said earlier, hates him for the way he stormed out of the apartment without another word, not even an apology. He doesn't want Peter around, doesn't need him, and honestly, how could Peter blame him?  
  
Destiny looks up at Peter, looking completely calm despite the absolute horror that lies around them.  
  
"Peter, don't leave," she yells over Roman's cries, urgently motioning for him to come forward. "It's okay, come here."  
  
"I SAID GET OUT!!" Roman roars, tearing out of Destiny's arms and trying to scoot himself across the floor into the corner where the bathtub nearly touches the wall. The towel, originally a dull yellow, looks almost orange now as it mops up the blood with Roman's movements. Peter's stomach lurches at the sight of it.  
  
Instead of waiting for any more assurance from Destiny, Peter drops to his knees and grabs onto Roman's shoulders, who forcefully pushes him away. Peter doesn't let it deter him, though, taking Roman's fevered face into his hands and holding it tightly. Roman grabs Peter's wrists and attempts to pry his hands off of him, but Peter holds firm, making Roman snarl angrily.  
  
"Roman!" Peter cries as Roman still tries to fight him off. "Just calm down. Please, calm down!"  
  
The anger in Roman's face suddenly dissolves as he groans in pain and curls into himself, alarming Peter even more.  
  
He whips around to face Destiny, screaming, "What the fuck is wrong?!"  
  
"It's a contraction," she says simply, rubbing Roman's back as he moans through it.  
  
Peter’s eyes scan the horrible swirls of crimson blood on the tile, feeling a paralyzing fear run through him as he sees more of it streaming from between Roman's legs.   
  
"We need to go to a hospital, this is fucking insane! That's too much blood, Dee!"  
  
"Peter, this is normal! I know how it looks, but the amount of blood is normal. He's panicking right now and that's making it worse, but it's alright! Just hold on to him, keep him steady!"  
  
"No, it's not alright! How is _any_ of this alright?!"  
  
Suddenly, Roman lets out a loud sigh of relief and practically collapses on the floor, physically exhausted. The knot in Peter's stomach releases a bit and he gently runs a hand through Roman's soaking wet hair.  
  
"Roman?" Peter says quietly.  
  
"Peter, please..." Roman closes his eyes, his voice breaking. "Don't look at me."  
  
"What??" Peter blanches.  
  
"I didn't want you to see this...to see me like this," Roman says breathlessly, new tears rolling down his face.  
  
Peter just shakes his head in disbelief and gingerly wipes the tears from Roman's eyes.  
  
"Sweetheart," he soothes. "That's just...fucking ridiculous. What are you talking about? I'm here...I'm here with you."  
  
"Just don't look, okay?" Roman whimpers. "Just don't..."  
  
Peter sits on his knees, defeated, in front of Roman's limp, exhausted form and does the exact opposite of what was asked of him. He can't look away. The entire scene before him looks like something out of a nightmare.  
  
And, even still, he's trying to convince himself that's just what it is, and any second he'll wake up to a brand new day, complete with an afternoon of house hunting and a baby that's still alive.  
  
But, if this truly were just a nightmare, he would've woken up by now.  
  
No, this was real; every horrific aspect of it too gruesome and earth-shattering to possibly be a dream. Peter's mind is still reeling, screaming "What do I do? What do I say?" over and over again, making his head pound with an aggravating ache.  
  
He reaches down to Roman, who lies on the cold tile with a stillness that too closely resembles death, and grips his shoulders, trying to pull him into his lap. But Roman is resistant to any movement.  
  
"C'mere," Peter says, almost desperate. "Let me hold you."  
  
Roman doesn't say anything, responding only with more tears . Peter feels the lump in his throat grow bigger, tighter, and it's choking him.  
  
"Peter..." Destiny whispers, placing a hand on his shoulder.  
  
"I wanna help," Peter replies briskly.  
  
Destiny falls silent for a moment, watching the complete helplessness between the two of them, one boy's plight equally as gut-wrenching as the other.  
  
The truth is she wants Peter to help, she knows he NEEDS to help and feel like he's part of this experience, despite the tragedy of it. She's getting the impression from Roman that, besides being completely terrified and broken hearted, he's ashamed.  
  
She can sense the shame rolling off of him like angry waves and she knows there's nothing to be said that can make that feeling disappear. These are emotions that are not going to fade overnight; he's going to have to work through them himself. It's going to take a lot of time and patience, especially on Peter's part, for Roman to feel normal again.  
  
Unfortunately, patience has never been one of Peter's strong virtues, and regardless of the loss, Roman is a mess of temperament anyway. It's apparent they both have their own issues they need to work through in order to come together and handle this as a team. To say she's worried would be a gross understatement.  
  
She really thought she had it all under control. And, hell, she probably did until Peter showed up and threw Roman into even deeper turmoil.  
  
After Peter left for the trailer, Destiny went back into the bathroom to find Roman staring blankly at the wall in front of him, his eyes dangerously shiny, like the dam was seconds away from breaking. She wasn't the least bit surprised, with Peter lashing out at him the way he did before leaving.  
  
His outburst made little sense to her, simply chalking it up to nothing more than grief. Men were not as well equipped to handle such distressing emotions, after all.  
  
Walking into the bathroom, she tread lightly, actually walking on figurative eggshells as she approached him.  
  
"Roman?"  
  
He recoiled slightly at her voice before glancing up at her, the look in his eyes eerily transparent. She moved to sit on the lid of the toilet so she could face Roman and she set her gaze steadily on him, as he kept his focus on the surface of the bathwater to avoid her.  
  
Destiny found herself almost afraid to say anything, like uttering just one word would make him shatter into a thousand pieces. There were so many things she could start with, but none of them found their way from her brain to her mouth, like some cord inside her had snapped. As if any words she had to offer would matter anyway.  
  
"You okay?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.  
  
Roman could feel Destiny's pity and the gentility of her tone made him want to scream. He hadn't earned her sympathy, oh no. He killed his child, there was no way around that. He ignored the red flags his body was waving, believing he knew better.  
  
He was Roman Godfrey, and Roman Godfrey didn't need anyone or anything. And the price he's now having to pay for just how wrong he was about that is nothing short of deserving.  
  
His baby was gone. His tiny, defenseless baby girl, who he'd fallen in love with the first time he saw her, was fading from his life like the brief flash of a lightning strike. He could feel her leaving his body with every breathe and every inkling of pain, and his heart was broken beyond any measure of repair.

He'd always heard you could die from a broken heart, and now he found himself praying it was true.  
  
And on top of it all was Peter, the love of his life and any life that may have come before or may come after this one, who he'd let down more than anyone. All Peter wanted was to be a father to their daughter. He could see it in Peter's eyes the moment he told him he was pregnant. Peter had this entire life planned out for the three of them and was doing everything in his power to make the plan a reality.  
  
And now Roman had destroyed all of it, once again. He didn't blame Peter for yelling at him, he didn't blame Peter for leaving him here without so much as a goodbye, he didn't blame Peter at all. How could he?  
  
"Roman..." Destiny repeated, sounding more concerned than the last time.  
  
"Did Peter leave?" Roman deadpanned.  
  
"Yes," she replied. "He went to get you some clean clothes."  
  
Roman just nodded and started swishing the bathwater around him with his hands, still avoiding Destiny's eyes.  
  
"I'm sorry for the way he spoke to you," Destiny said. "He had no right."  
  
"Didn't he?" Roman retorted.  
  
Destiny let out a resigned sigh as she watched Roman continue to skim his fingers through the water, like it's the most interesting thing in the world. She crossed her arms and leaned forward far enough to almost touch her knees, attempting to make a motion large enough to catch Roman's attention. When he looked up at her, she spoke.  
  
"You know this isn't your fault, right?" she said. "These things....I don't know why they happen, but they do. All the time. They _shouldn't_ , but... No one should ever have to lose a child."  
  
"Even me?" Roman scoffed.  
  
"Yes!" Destiny gasped, though she knew she couldn't act too shocked he would wonder such a thing.  
  
Aside from their societal differences, Destiny was all too aware of the fact that Roman overheard the fit she threw when he and Peter came to her a few weeks ago with the news. Her cheeks turned red at the memory, reminding her of how she chastised Peter for lying with "his kind" and how God only knew what they'd created in this child. She couldn't help but feel ashamed of herself.  
  
"Sorry," Roman mutters. "I shouldn't have--"  
  
"You don't have to apologize to me," Destiny cut him off. "I get why you'd feel that way. I wasn't pleased about this at first. Actually, I was pretty pissed. But I...I think it was mostly due to my own prejudices, and that was wrong. I'm sorry for that. And I never, ever would've wished this upon you, Roman."  
  
Roman opened his mouth to say something, but the words cut off in his throat when another cramp suddenly sliced through his belly. He gasped in pain and lunged forward in the tub, his knees hitting him in the chest.  
  
Destiny shot up from her seat and began to step toward him, but he held up a palm to halt her.  
  
"I'm fine," he said breathlessly, wearily going back to laying his head against the edge of the tub. He slowly exhaled little streams of breath through a tiny "o" in this lips, waiting for the remainder of the pain to pass.  
  
When it did, his eyes fell down into the water, setting his gaze on the little bulge that was still present in his stomach. Carefully, he cradled his little belly in his hand, something pulling and tearing inside his chest as the thought occurred to him: _This is the only way I'll ever be able to hold my child._  
  
His eyes welled with tears again as he kept them sharply focused below the surface of the water. He could feel Destiny watching him, knowing she could see all of his vulnerability and heartache, but not caring in the slightest how weak he must have appeared to her. He had to get this pain out, because holding it all within him was way too much.  
  
"It's better this way," Roman choked out, his lip trembling.  
  
"What?" Destiny said with a sad, fragile voice.  
  
"She never would've stood a chance, not with me. I'd have fucked up her life, like Olivia did mine. And she'd just end up hating me," Roman wallowed, as tears ran down his cheeks. "That's why she was taken away from me, she's better off not being born at all."  
  
Destiny quickly came to the edge of the tub and dropped to her knees in front of Roman.  
  
"That's not true," she soothed. "That is _not_ true, Roman. You loved her...so much. I could see it in your eyes the first time we looked at her. You remember? God, I'd never seen so many stars in two people's eyes as I did in yours and Peter's that day."  
  
At the mention of Peter's name, Roman seemed to cry harder, more unhinged.  
  
"I've already fucked up Peter's life. That's a done deal. He had this..this whole plan for us, and I... I've ruined it, he's so angry with me!"  
  
"Sweetie, he's not angry with you, okay? He's angry at the whole situation, and he's hurting just as much as you are. Peter loves you and he didn't mean what he said, he really didn't," Destiny said sincerely. "You didn't ruin a goddamn thing.  
  
Roman hits Destiny with a sobering expression. "I'm a Godfrey," he muttered. "I ruin things. That's what Godfrey's do, right?"  
  
Destiny felt her cheeks get hot as an overwhelming feeling of guilt pooled in her gut. Yes, in all other situations, she would blame Roman for any and all types of misfortune bestowed upon him or anyone associated with him. It was not unknown that the Godfrey's carried bad tidings. And it would be an incredible lie to say she didn't think, at least briefly, that nothing good could come from a Godfrey-Rumancek bred child.  
  
But this...this she never would've wished for. And now that it had happened, and the gravity of it began to set in, Destiny felt almost responsible. She cast her eyes under the rose-tinted water, catching a glimpse of Roman rubbing a hand over his belly. She heard a sniff and looked up just in time to see Roman's face contort in a painful expression. She was about to ask if he was having another cramp when a sharp sob escaped from his lips.  
  
"I just wanted this baby so bad!" Roman wailed, trying to muffle his volume by clamping a hand over his mouth.  
  
Without even thinking about it, Destiny threw her arms around Roman's neck and pulled him into her, his crying eyes landing onto her shoulder, wetting her shirt. To her surprise, Roman lifted his arms out of the bath, water splashing out, forming puddles on the tile, and clung to her as if she were some sort of lifeline.  
  
Roman's head rested in the crook of Destiny's neck, crying so hard he wasn't making any sound. Destiny just held him, smoothing her hand over his hair in a fluid, calming motion, and can't helping the stray tears that escape from her eyes as well.  
  
"I know," she said softly. "I know you did."


	11. Chapter 11

Peter and Destiny sit slouched with exhaustion on the couch, lazily passing a cigarette back and forth, trying to wrap their minds around what the hell just happened. 

Once they had Roman calmed down, they helped him back into the bathtub to wash off all the blood. As if the amount cemented on the inside of his thighs weren't ghastly enough, Roman had mopped up most of the blood on the tiles with the rest of his body in his efforts to keep Peter away. 

The image keeps playing in Peter's mind, and the longer it lingers, the more haunting it becomes. 

After getting him into the bath, Roman told them he wanted to be alone for a while, which Peter wanted to argue about, but Destiny forced him out of the room before he had a chance. He knew Roman needed his time and didn't blame him for wanting a little privacy after being gawked at and prodded all night. 

But on the other hand, Peter needed Roman to need him. He couldn't shake the feeling that he was being shut out and wanted more than anything to be by Roman's side, helping him through this hellish ordeal. It physically pained him to be on the other side of the bathroom door, especially considering that besides the sound of Roman's movements through the water, there was absolute silence.

The silence, believe it or not, was worse than the crying. The complete absence of emotion made Peter nervous, but he knew this was just Roman being Roman, who has never handled emotions well to begin with. Peter was just relieved he’d stopped trying to fight him off. 

Between drags on the cigarette, Destiny recounts to a desolate Peter the events leading up to the grisly scene he returned to. 

"It was a little after 10 when I finally got him to bed. He slept for a couple hours...if he actually slept," Destiny laments. 

She holds the cigarette carefully between two of her fingers and hands it over to Peter, who takes it and shoves it between his teeth. 

"The bleeding seemed to stop when he got out of the tub, so I figured we'd be safe just wrapping some towels around him for a while...ya know, since he didn't have any underwear."

Taking a long drag off the cigarette, Peter blows the smoke forcefully out of the side of his mouth before passing it back to Destiny, who pinches it without even looking.

"So, I got him all settled and I fell asleep out here. Then...I don't know, like five minutes before you showed up, he starts screaming."

Peter feels his throat constrict as the urge to scream himself fights its way from his lungs. He brings a fist to his mouth and clamps his teeth down on one of his knuckles, desperate to keep his composure.

"God, it scared the shit out of me. I ran to the bathroom and he's crouched by the tub, and there's blood everywhere; on the floor, on the tub, on him. And he was just...panicked," Destiny says, smoke exhaling from her nostrils. "I mean, this was a full blown panic attack; he was completely out of his mind. Can't say that I blame him..."

Unnerved by Destiny's play-by-play, Peter grabs a new cigarette out of Destiny's pack on the coffee table and hastily lights it. He closes his eyes and rubs his temple, trying his damnedest to work the memory of a bloody, distressed Roman out of his mind.

He turns his head to gaze through the doorway leading to Destiny's bedroom where Roman is, hopefully, fast asleep.

"So, this is what you meant?" Peter mutters. 

Destiny turns to look at him, her tired eyes questioning. 

"Earlier, when you said it would get worse before it got better... That was what you were talking about, right? That was the 'worse'."

Destiny leans forward and jams the butt of the cigarette into an ashtray with a heavy sigh. 

"That was just the tip of the iceberg, my friend."

"You're fucking shitting me."

"I'm afraid fucking not."

Peter pushes himself up from the couch and paces around the living room, anger coursing through him like a locomotive. He sucks hard on the cigarette as if it's providing him with life-saving oxygen. He stops abruptly, towering over Destiny, and gives her a searing glare.

"You mean to tell me...ALL of that," he gestures wildly to the doorway that leads through Destiny's room to the blood-stained bathroom. "That was just the beginning?"

Destiny slumps into the couch, roughly rubbing both eyes with the palms of her hands.

"Every person's different, Peter, and everyone's body handles these things differently, so... there's nothing I can tell you for absolute certain," Destiny explains. "But from what I've seen, I can draw a pretty concrete picture."

With a flick of his fingers, Peter sends his now tiny nub of a cigarette on to the table, narrowly missing the ashtray. He walks over to the window and braces his arms against it as a pillow for his forehead as he looks out at the lights of the city. 

Just a few hours ago, he drove alongside the moon, basking in its glowing light, feeling for only the briefest of moments a sense of peace. 

He peers at that same moon now with nothing but an immense dread he can't shake. He can't imagine anything being worse than what he came back to earlier, and it's agonizing to think of Roman taking much more...or what will become of him after. 

He just wants the foreboding "worse" to happen already so Roman can begin to heal and they can try to move past this, though he wonders if there's any way to really move on from something like this.

Behind him, Destiny, seeming to ignore his momentary attempt at solitude, drones on.

"The biggest thing with Roman is he's further along. The highest risk for a miscarriage is within the first 7 or 8 weeks, and since we’re at week 13…it’s a bit different. So, it’s most likely going to take longer and be harder on him to pass the baby. I think he's getting close, but..."

Peter found himself hating when she said that, "pass the baby". She'd said it a couple of times this evening and it made him sick to his stomach every time he heard it. He had a good idea what it meant, and knew that it was probably a clinical term they had to use, but to him, it sounded incredibly insensitive. 

To hear her say it made it sound like Roman was trying to rid his body of a kidney stone or tossing around a football instead of losing their daughter.

"When you say...'pass'," he says with his back still turned to Destiny. "You mean like...give birth or something?"

He hears Destiny shift on the couch and listens as her footsteps carry her to the kitchen. He hears the fridge open for a second, followed by the pop and hiss of a can being opened, and doesn't need to look at her to know she's having a beer. A much needed beer, he would say. 

"Basically," Destiny says after a healthy swig. "That's where the pain is coming from. His body is trying to expell the tissue in the same way it would a full term baby. It’s like a...mild form of labor, with contractions and the whole she-bang. And, like labor often tends to do, it can take hours."

Peter shakes his head, incredulous to Destiny's words and the entire situation. He feels all of his patience and self-control rapidly slipping through his fingers and there's not a damn thing he can do to make it slow down.

"And the pain...what happened earlier, that was just contractions?"

"That was more hysteria than it was anything. I mean, with the blood loss, I'm sure he was in a fair amount of pain. But what you saw? Sheer panic...absolute terror," Destiny says. "I feel like...that was the moment when it really set in for him. It really became real, and…he just couldn't take it." 

Peter inhales deeply and turns to face the bedroom, watching Roman's sleeping form in the darkness. Roman is eerily still, but Peter finds an overwhelming solace in it. He wants Roman to be lost from this for a while, to slip into a serene slumber where reality can't interrupt what he hopes are blissful dreams. 

He wants it to last as long as it can, because when Roman wakes, the nightmare continues right where it left off.

"Peter, sweetie, you should just go to bed. There's nothing more you can do," Destiny says as she comes to stand by Peter, wrapping an arm around his neck in a hug.

Peter grabs Destiny's arm in a hug back and let's out a deep yawn, as if on cue, making Destiny chuckle.

"I won't be able to sleep. I can't get his screaming out of my mind," Peter says solemnly.

"I know," Destiny mumbles sadly. "But...like I said, it's not over yet. And we need to get our rest so we can handle whatever comes next as calmly as possible. It's been emotional enough as it is, and we need to be strong for him."

Peter nods against Destiny's arm and heads toward the bedroom where Roman still lies soundly. He turns to look at Destiny, his eyelids heavy with pending sleep.

"What about you? You gonna be okay out here?" Peter asks.

Destiny lifts the can of beer to her lips and takes a tiny sip as she nods her head. "Don't worry about me. My couch is more comfortable anyway."

And with that, Peter bids her good night and makes his way into the bedroom. He tiptoes in the darkness, squinting hard at the ground to make sure he doesn't trip over or step on anything. 

Slipping off his jacket and shirt and tossing them on an armchair in the corner, Peter carefully slides under the sheet, his leg grazing the corner of the old bath towel Destiny had laid over the top sheet for Roman to sleep on. 

Though his bleeding seemed to slow down substantially after he got out of his second bath of the evening, Destiny said it would most likely start up again while he slept. To Roman's embarrassment, she'd helped him secure a Maxi-pad to his underwear and put the towel down as a backup. 

Peter scoots close to Roman's sleeping form. Roman lies with his back to Peter, his body moving rhythmically with the sound of his soft breaths. He wraps an arm around Roman's torso and he begins to pull him in, when unconsciously, his hand lands on Roman's belly. His breath catches in his throat as he holds it there, frozen in place. 

Just a few hours ago, he and Roman were lying in bed, wrapped in each other's arms, discussing their plan for tomorrow. In the paper, they'd seen an ad for a two-bedroom, one bath townhouse in Redding, a little town 15 miles south of Hemlock Grove. 

With each new vacant space they found, they tried not to set their hopes too high, considering they'd only come across a handful of places that weren't complete dumps since they began their house-hunting adventures. But also, with every new potential future home, there was just a hint of excitement at the possibility. 

They'd already decided to get up early to head to Redding, as it seemed to have the most promise of any place they'd looked at the past week. Peter had found himself hoping that they would look at this house and would finally, FINALLY, find the home they so longed to have, the home they would raise their baby girl in and be the family they planned to be.

But now, Peter lies next to Roman, completely broken and emptied of all his hope as his hand still lingers on Roman's stomach, wishing he could still feel his daughter. She hadn't started moving yet, but just knowing she was in there was enough. 

He couldn't believe it was ending like this, that she was leaving them in this way. It just wasn't fucking fair. Peter didn't see the point in any of it. Why discover her existence, why even conceive her if this is how God wanted to play the game? Was he being punished for something? Was Roman? 

He knew what Destiny said, that sometimes these things happen and there's no reasonable explanation behind it. But he couldn't accept that. Everything happens for a reason, yet any reason for something this horrific and painful hardly seems justified.

Suddenly, under his arm, Roman begins to stir, and Peter quickly releases his hold on him. Roman lets out a little moan as he turns his head back and lifts his eyelids at Peter. 

"Peter?" he gurgles.

Peter gently strokes his cheek. "Yeah, it's just me. Go back to sleep, honey."

Roman closes his eyes and his head lands heavily back on the pillow. Peter leans over, careful not to nudge him, and places a light kiss on the side of Roman's head before coming to rest on his own pillow. 

"Peter..." Roman's quiet, sleepy voice abruptly says.

Startled, Peter props himself back up and puts his lips near Roman's ear.

"I'm right here," he whispers.

There's a pause, followed by steady breathing, and for a moment, Peter thinks that Roman has fallen back asleep. He's about to roll over onto his side when he hears Roman again.

"I'm sorry..."

"What?" Peter asks, hovering an ear over Roman's face.

"I'm sorry," Roman repeats groggily. "I'm sorry I lost her." 

Roman’s words knock Peter back onto his pillow. He’d already known that Roman would blame himself for this, but hearing him actually apologize over something so beyond any of his control makes everything within Peter ache. 

He wants so badly to grab Roman and shake him awake, just so he can tell him how wrong he is, to say the words to him over and over again until his face turns blue, to scream it at him if he has to.

But when he hears Roman begin to softly snore next to him, he just rolls over and lets his tears soak silently into the pillow.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...this is it. Quite a tough chapter to write, both from a creative and emotional standpoint. I did quite a bit of research on miscarriage and I found that no two experiences are the same. That being said, I tried to write this as accurately as possible, and formed Roman's experience from certain aspects I'd read about . Like I've said before, I hope it isn't upsetting to anyone, and I apologize if it is. 
> 
> But! There is happiness on the horizon, I promise! Not like a real close horizon, but...ya know, it's on the way.

_The large black wolf sprints through the forest, his pace steady, measured. The snow falls in big, fat flakes all around him and sticks to his fur as he races through the tall, bare trees. The cold wind stings his eyes, but it doesn’t bother him. All he can focus on is the freedom of the run, the thrill of the hunt._

_When he makes it to the edge of the forest, he comes to a halt. He stands tall, staring at the vast clearing in front of him, which is stark white with the new fallen show. The sky above is bright in spite of the endless clouds, making the scenery almost blinding._

_In the distance, the sound of crows cawing back and forth to each other make the wolf’s ears perk up. He glances all around, and not another soul exists besides himself and the crows he can hear, but can’t see._

_Then, from behind, comes a soft galloping. The wolf turns his head to see a smaller wolf, practically a cub, trotting toward the clearing. The cub, with golden brown fur and fluorescent yellow eyes identical to his own, comes to stand next to him at the clearing. The black wolf observes carefully as the cub takes in their surroundings, peering at the world as if it’s brand new._

_The black wolf playfully nudges the cub – his cub – in the neck with his snout, making the cub yelp in surprise. Then, the cub bounces on his hind legs and jumps at the black wolf in an attempt to tackle. The black wolf then lightly bites down on the cub’s neck and wrestles him to the ground, where they roll around in the frigid snow, barking and nipping at each other._

_Both wolves get back on their feet, their fur caked with ice crystals, and they tilt their heads up, baying deeply into the cloudy sky…_

He’s woken up that morning by Destiny, lightly slapping his cheek over and over. Peter’s body jolts to consciousness and his eyes open slowly as they adjust to the sunlight filling the room. Destiny looms over him, her face hard and focused.

“C’mon, Peter. Look alive,” she says.

“Wha…?” Peter’s voice gurgles.

“It’s time,” she says simply before hopping up and out of his sight.

And that’s when he hears Roman’s agonized moans coming from the bathroom.

Peter shoots out of the bed so fast, he loses his footing and stumbles to the floor. Jumping back up, he goes to grab his shirt that lies rumpled in the armchair, but when he hears Roman again, he forgoes the shirt and races into the bathroom.

A stark naked Roman is once again in the bathtub, this time crouching down inside of it, and he’s gripping the sides so hard, his fingers are white. A bathrobe clad Destiny hovers over him, wiping down his face and neck with a washcloth as he takes shallow breaths in through his nose and out of his mouth.

Peter stands helplessly in the doorway, eyes darting between Roman and Destiny, not having the slightest clue what he should be doing. This isn’t nearly as scary as the scene he came across last night, but he knows this time will be so much harder to be part of.

 _“It’s time”,_ Destiny had said. That meant this was it, the big, horrible, inevitable worse she wanted them to be prepared for. And Peter wasn’t prepared; he knew as he stood there like a gaping mouthed idiot that he was in no way ready for this.

His eyes fall on Roman, still so beautiful despite the unforgiving hell he’s going through. He watches Roman’s chest heave up and down as he pants through the pain. Then, his tired, bloodshot eyes drift up to meet Peter’s, and in that instant, Peter knows where he needs to be.

Springing back to life, he rushes over to the bathtub and drops to his knees. There’s no water in the tub this time, just harsh red streaks running down into the drain. The scent of copper lingers heavily in the air, and it’s almost pungent enough to make Peter gag.

“Hey…” Roman exhales barely above a whisper. He already looks completely exhausted, with his ashen skin and eyes sunken into their sockets. Peter pushes back the little bits of hair stuck to Roman’s sweaty forehead.

“You’re alright,” he assures Roman gently. “It’s gonna be okay.”

But saying those words make his stomach sink because not a single fiber in his body truly believes it. He’s lying right to Roman’s face.

Roman lets out a guttural moan and Destiny goes back to patting him down with the washcloth. And though Peter knows it’s totally juvenile for him to feel this way, he can’t help being envious that she’s the one Roman really needs.

“When did this start?” Peter asks.

“About half an hour ago,” Destiny replies from the other side of the tub, turning on the faucet to rinse away some of the blood.

“Half an—Why the hell didn’t you wake me up?!” Peter snaps.

Destiny throws him a narrow look and shoots back, “Because you weren’t needed, Peter.”

She regrets the words as soon as they leave her mouth and the hurt in Peter’s face just deepens the guilt. She’s about to apologize when suddenly, Roman does a sharp intake of breath and his whole body visibly tenses.

“Owwww…” he groans, his voice cracking.

Destiny crouches down beside him and firmly places a hand on the small of his back. She brings her lips close to his ear.

“Okay, remember what I told you, Roman. You can push – gently – on the contractions. That’ll help ease everything out. Just give a little push,” Destiny coaches.

Roman hurriedly nods his head. “Yeah, okay,” he says breathlessly. “I can do that.”

Spreading his legs out to get a bit lower, he braces himself against the edges of the tub. He takes a deep breath, drops his chin to his chest, and bears down, letting out a little grunt with the effort.

“That’s it…just like that,” Destiny coos, closely monitoring the lower half of Roman’s body.

Roman is so focused, and so tuned into the process his body is working through, it makes Peter aware of just how useless and un-needed he is. And though he so wants to be of any possible help, he can’t find an ounce of will to do or say anything. All he can do is watch Roman, study him, admire the strength he is getting from within, since Peter is failing so miserably at providing that for him.

Peter watches, almost as if in a trance, as pink splotches begin to grow on Roman’s face, neck, and chest as his push turns more into a strain. And though he can’t bring himself to look anywhere near the inside of the tub, he does his best to drown out the unmistakable sound of soft, wet little _plinks_ and _plops_ hitting the porcelain.

Finally, the contraction passes, and his body immediately goes limp as he releases.

“Good! That was great, Roman. You’re doing awesome,” Destiny sings. She looks down into the bottom of the tub and shakes her head, apparently pleased. “Making some progress, that’s good.”

She reaches toward the faucet to once again rinse away the carnage, when suddenly Roman reaches up and grabs a hold of her arm.

“Wait…” he says fearfully. “Something’s not right.”

Alarmed, Peter leans forward and places his hand over the one Roman has clenched to the tub. In doing so, he catches a glimpse of all the blood inside, and his stomach lurches before he looks away.

Destiny gets right in Roman’s face, forcing him to look her in the eye. “What do you mean?” she says with a clinical tone.

“I don’t know,” Roman shakes his head. “There’s…just a lot of pressure down there and—”

He’s cut off by a sudden gush of fluid bursting from between his legs.

Peter jumps back as it splashes the bottom and up the sides of the tub.

“Jesus! W-Was that..?” he stammers.

Destiny gives him a pointed look and curtly replies “Yes, it was” before turning her attention back to Roman, whose eyes have gone wide with horror.

“Your water just broke. Remember, I told you that might happen?”

Roman just carefully nods, his body immediately beginning to tremble. He’s now, officially, terrified. The horrible pain, the bleeding, and the humiliation of being this exposed for so long was bad enough, but now he realized he essentially had to give birth to a child that no longer was. And then, he would have to say goodbye to her, really say goodbye, before she was disposed of as if she were nothing. The mere thought of it made him feel like screaming.

Destiny rubs a gentle hand across his shoulders, his features immediately calming at her touch. Peter comes to awkwardly squat on back on his side, knowing he probably looks just as pathetic as he feels.

Roman looks over at him, his eyes so sad and defeated, everything in his face saying he wants to give up. Peter just offers him a sad smile, as he can’t think of a single word to say. His mind is fighting against his silence, screaming at him, _Say something! Make words! He needs your words, you fucking idiot!_

But Peter can’t, and Roman’s lip starts to tremble as he looks away.

“Alright, when the water breaks, things tend to move a lot quicker. Your body will know what to do, so you need to trust it and just let it all happen naturally, okay?” Destiny instructs.

“I don’t want to do this,” Roman’s voice cracks, a tear rolling down his cheek.

“I know, sweetie. I know this is hard. But it has to happen, and you’re doing such a great job,” Destiny soothes. Then, her tone turns harsh. “Isn’t he, Peter?”

Peter doesn’t have to look at her to know that she’s pissed. He can practically feel her eyes drilling holes into his flesh. She wants him to be a comfort to Roman, for him to be strong so Roman doesn’t have to be, for him to at least pretend he’s not coming undone at the seams.

And though Peter knew damn well what he should be doing, mentally, physically, he was unable. There were no words to be said, no act of support or compassion that could change what was happening. He was at a complete and total loss.

Before Destiny has a chance to chastise him further, Roman lets out a gasp and his body once again goes rigid. Moaning, he tenses up his shoulders and neck, his chin sinking back into his chest, and, unconsciously, his pelvis juts forward.

Peter timidly runs his hand up and down Roman’s back, the muscles hardening even more under his finger tips.

“Dee…what’s happening?” Peter calls to Destiny, struggling to be heard over Roman vocalizing the pain.

She looks at him, no trace of fear or concern marking her face as she simply says, “It’s go time.”

While Peter feels everything in his gut stir with nerves, Destiny immediately slips into professional mode and crouches down at eye level with Roman.

“Roman, this is it,” She says firmly, and Roman looks at her with terrified eyes.

“I can’t… Roman whimpers. “I can’t do this.”

Destiny pats his face with the washcloth. “You can absolutely do this. You’re doing so good, it’s almost over.”

Another wave of pain crashes down on Roman and he moans in pain as he tries to catch his breath. Destiny wipes down the back of his neck and, seeing him watching from the other side of the tub, shoots Peter a desperate look. _Fucking say something to him!_

But things are progressing much too quickly for anyone to say anything. Roman thrusts forward again, moaning and grunting through the pain. He’s growing impatient, and his body is letting them all know it.

“Okay, okay, easy…” Destiny hushes. “Now, if you feel like you need to push, you can. But do it gently, don’t strain. And if I ask you to stop, I need you to stop, alright?”

A deep, throaty growl erupts from Roman’s throat as the pain rolls over him again. And Destiny knows they’ve run out of time.

“Go, Roman. Push,” she instructs. Roman immediately hunches down into the push, his legs shaking with the force of it.

“Good, good, good. That’s real good, Roman,” Destiny coos, keeping her eyes squarely focused on him. “Alright, stop.”

And Roman does what he’s told, immediately relaxing while he heaves in and out. Destiny turns on the faucet to re-wet the washcloth and then quickly swipes it across Roman’s forehead. Almost as soon as he lets go, Roman tenses back up as a razor sharp pain runs through him like a bolt of lightning.

“Ah, fuck, it’s back… Oh, God,” he pants, his face contorting in pain. “I gotta…I feel like I gotta push…Like, something’s there…”

“Okay, this time, I’m gonna count to ten, and when I get to ten, you stop. Got it?” Destiny coaches. When Roman nods, Destiny begins counting, “One, two, three…”

“Wait a minute,” Peter suddenly says. “Isn’t this going too fast?”

Destiny’s eyes settle hard on him, never once stopping or slowing down her counting.

“…nine, ten. Awesome, Roman! Relax for a second and breathe,” she says before turning her attention to Peter. “Like I said, the water breaking speeds it up. And he’s been at this for a while, so I’m not really concerned.”

Peter feels the blood drain to his toes and, robotically, he places a hand on Roman’s shoulder, which he thinks is the most pathetic, worthless form of affection he could possibly offer now.

About that time, Roman feels the pain tighten like a vice around him. He lets out a long, harsh moan and tightens every muscle, taking in as deep of a breath as he can muster before he starts bearing down once again.

“Whoa, Roman! Hold on a minute,” Destiny says, her tone commanding.

But Roman shakes his head defiantly. “No, I can’t! Something’s coming…” Roman snaps, sounding panicked. “Just let me push, FUCK!!”

Destiny and Peter share a look, and though no words are said, Peter knows exactly what that look means.

“Okay, okay, you can push,” Destiny says. “Gently…one, two, three…”

As Roman starts pushing again, Peter turns his head and looks the other way, his hand falling from Roman’s shoulder. He can hear everything, every grunt and moan and labored breath from Roman, every gentle piece of direction and supportive word from Destiny, every beat of his own heart as it thuds heavily against his chest. Even the sound of it all is too much.

He considers, for just a brief moment, leaving the room. He knows no one would notice, and that fact doesn’t even bother him. He’s been absolutely useless anyway. Roman doesn’t need him, he would be better off if Peter left. It would be best if Peter left.

Roman cries out as the intensity of the pain hits its peak, and his knees nearly collapse beneath him. His body feels like it’s on fire as sweat rolls down his forehead and into his eyes, stinging on contact. The pain is so immense, he can’t even bring himself to cry anymore.

He keeps pushing, per Destiny’s instruction, when suddenly, he feels a heaviness pass through him and slip out. And once it does, every ounce of the pain he’s been suffering through since last night magically vanishes.

He’s so physically drained, he lets go of the edges of the tub, and falls backward, nearly hitting his head on the faucet spout. Destiny’s face comes to hover over him, her expression relieved, but sad, as she runs a hand through his bangs.

“So…you passed it. You passed your placenta and…everything.,” she breathes as she intensely studies the bottom of the bathtub. “It’s over, Roman. You did so good.”

As he breathes through his relief, he allows the tears he’s been fighting off to come. Because he knows that now, it truly is over; the baby is gone, and so is the life he and Peter dreamed of.

Peter hears Roman begin to sob behind him, and it finally all becomes too much. He turns his head back for just a second, just long enough to catch sight of Roman lying exhausted and broken in the tub, and the giant, gruesome clot of red pooled beneath him.

Jumping to his feet, Peter sprints back into Destiny’s bedroom. He grabs his shirt and jacket off of the arm chair in the corner and hastily throws them both on. His breathing veers on the edge of hyperventilation as he feels around the pockets of his jeans, making sure he has his wallet, his phone, his car keys.

From the bathroom, he hears Roman’s weak voice call his name, and he feels vomit rise up in his throat. He hears his name again, but this time it comes from Destiny, making him scurry into the living room. He’s almost to the door, when her voice rings out from behind him.

“Peter, what the hell?!” she screeches. Peter immediately freezes and he turns to face Destiny, not realizing until he sees her face soften that he’s crying.

Destiny holds her hands out to him and takes a careful step forward.

“Hey,” she says gently. “Peter? It’s okay. I know that was a lot to take, I’m sorry. Maybe I should’ve better prepared you for it, but… It’s over now, it’s alright.”

Peter just shakes his head, the tears still silently streaming down his face. “No… No, it’s not alright. It’s not okay. I… I did this to him.”

“What? No, no you didn’t, Peter. You didn’t do anything. And neither did he,” Destiny recites as if she’s a hostage negotiator. “Remember what I told you? These things happen all the time, and it’s never anyone’s fault.”

“But I got him pregnant. I put the baby there…I put it there, just so it could fucking die and give him all this pain. And I filled his head with this bullshit about moving in together and being a fucking family, and for what?! What was the goddamn point?!”

Peter was yelling now, and Destiny was rushing toward him, urging him to lower his voice, but Peter dodges her, moving around her with fluidity.

Pausing for a moment, he points a shaky finger through the archway.

“Just go take care of him… Dee, you have to take care of him, because obviously I’m too fucking stupid to know how! The fuck does he even need me for??”

Destiny comes to stand in front of him and tries to grab a hold of his shoulders to keep him steady, but he squirms away from her, making his way back toward the door.

“Peter, stop! Turn around and look at me!” Destiny barks.  

Once again, Peter stops before he has a chance to even touch the doorknob, and to his surprise and Destiny’s, he obeys her order. And though he did what she wanted, he can’t bring himself to look at her. Carefully, Destiny inches closer to him with the calculated pace of a hunter approaching its prey.

“I need you to listen to me. Whatever you’re thinking right now…it’s just your grief talking. Okay? I can’t imagine what you two are feeling. And I’m sure it’s nothing I could possibly understand without going through it myself.

I know you had a plan, and it was a great plan, Peter. I’m proud of you for wanting to do the right thing, and I’m so sorry it didn’t work out the way you wanted it to. But you can still have that. You and Roman make each other happy, and you can have a happy life together, just like you wanted.

Now, that’s not going to happen overnight. You need to allow yourself time to process all of this, to grieve for your loss, and to move forward. Right now, everything feels shitty and broken and like your entire world has come to an end? Fine; it feels that way, and there’s absolutely nothing wrong with that. But it won’t feel like this forever. I promise you. It’ll get better; you will both get better, with time. And the amount of time that takes doesn’t matter. Just…be patient with yourself, please.”

Peter hears every word, but his mind refuses to comprehend any of them. Even after her entire spiel, he still fidgets toward the door, his instinct screaming at him to get out. He has no place here, having lost every bit of the privilege of being by Roman’s side with his cowardice. The absolute best thing for everyone would be for him to disappear, and to do it now.

“Okay…” Peter mutters. “Okay, I just… I need to get out. I have to get out of here.”

“You need to take a break? Peter, if you need to step out for a minute, it’s okay,” Destiny says. “Maybe take a lap around the block and get some fresh air?”

“Yeah. Yeah, that sounds good,” Peter says, his hand trembling as it reaches for the doorknob. “Just gonna…go for a walk.”

He yanks the door open and takes a step out the door, when he hears Destiny’s voice again.

“Everything is going to be alright,” she says simply.

But before she can get the entire sentence out, Peter is already gone.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good news! After this chapter, the worst of the angst is OVER! Yay! Now just a little more angst to go before the happy ending I keep promising. 
> 
> Also, a little note: "You are the moonlight of my life" is a lyric from a Green Day song called "Last Night on Earth" (it's a really pretty song). It's my favorite line and it just dawned on me that it would be beautiful for Peter to say Roman is "the moonlight of his life". So, in case it sounded familiar, that's where it came from. 
> 
> I do not own the song. Credit to Green Day.

Peter bursts out of Destiny’s building with such force, the front door is nearly yanked from the hinges. Pulling the car keys out of his pocket, he immediately gets into the station wagon and turns the ignition. He slams down the gear shift and tears out of his parking spot, watching the apartment grow smaller in the rearview mirror.

He never had any intention of just taking a quick walk around the block.

A part of him wonders if Destiny knew what he really meant when he said he had to “get out”. Otherwise why would she plead with him the way she did? He can still hear her words echoing in his head:

_“You need to allow yourself time to process all of this…”_

_“You and Roman make each other happy, you can have a happy life together, just like you wanted…”_

_“…it won’t feel like this forever. I promise you”._

The words replay over and over, and though Peter knows everything she said to him made perfect sense, he forces them out of his mind. The one thing she got wrong was that this miscarriage was no one’s fault. There never would’ve been a miscarriage if there weren’t a baby. And there wouldn’t ever have been a baby if Peter would’ve been smart and left Roman be.

Destiny tried to tell him from the beginning, that he needed to steer clear of the Godfrey’s. From the moment they first met, Peter and Roman were drawn to one another. It was almost as if each of them were on opposing ends of a rope; physically and spiritually connected, but not having the slightest clue why. Peter initially believed their bond was due to their shared dreams, and at first, that was probably just so.

But as time wore on and the two of them got to know each other on a more intimate level, Peter realized his ties to Roman had to do with so much more than dreams. Roman was a bright light in the darkness surrounding his life, a whisper of peace that quieted his deepest fears, the love he never believed could possibly exist.

And in return, Peter caused Roman the most incredible form of heartbreak imaginable.

Peter stomps on the gas and speeds further down the road, blindly weaving in and out of traffic. When he finally blinks, he finds himself in his bedroom, pulling a giant suitcase out from under his bed and propping it open.

He tears through the closet in seconds, ripping shirt after shirt from their hangers and shoving them in the suitcase. He opens the top drawer of the little dresser next to the bed and scoops out pairs of socks and underwear in handfuls. Dropping them on top of the mess of shirts, he grabs a small duffel bag and hustles into the bathroom.

Peter slides open the shattered door of the medicine cabinet, still bloodied from the night before, and empties its entire contents into the bag without even looking. He tosses the duffel toward the front door and heads back into the bedroom.

He smashes everything down deeper into the suitcase and struggles to close it. He kicks the suitcase through the doorway and retrieves his pillow from the bed, throwing it out the door as well. When he yanks away the comforter, a corner of the fitted sheet pops free from the mattress, and when he leans over to fix it, something catches his eye.

Peter carefully picks up a folded piece of notebook paper that had very obviously been hidden under the sheet. He unfolds the paper to find, in Roman’s handwriting, a list of girl’s names.

_Nadia_

_Stella_

_Aria_

_Emmeline_

_Lillian_

_Cassandra_

_Isabella_

_*Nadia Emmeline Rumancek_

Sitting on the bed, reading the list of names over and over again, Peter feels pain tightening his chest. She had a name. Roman had given their little girl a name. Nadia Emmeline…

As tears fill up his eyes, Peter folds the paper back up and places it in his shirt pocket. He wanted it as a reminder of her and Roman and what could have been, in case his mind ever decided it wanted him to forget.

Peter told himself he had no right to up and leave. But his instinct to run was beginning to overpower his longing to stay. His heart ached as it fought against his mind, trying so hard to keep him anchored to this place when his thoughts told him otherwise.

This is who he is, a vagabond with a spirit as untamed as a stallion, and his nature couldn’t be controlled no matter how desperately he tried to. And that would be of no use to Roman, who loved him and expected him to stay. Peter had hurt him enough already. He had to go.

Peter jumps up from the bed and runs through the doorway, picking up his suitcase and pillow on the way out. Before he can stop himself, he turns to look at the room for one last time. His eyes fall on the bed where another pillow remains, among dozens of shirts and expensive suit jackets hanging in the closet.

It dawns on him that eventually, Roman will have to come back here. He’ll come back to find Peter gone, left with absolutely nothing of him. And he’ll be alone, wondering why, blaming himself, hating himself…

No. Peter shakes his head. It’s better this way. Even if he did stay, he knew eventually his gypsy blood would start pumping again and something would call out to him, but the stakes would be so much higher. He had to leave now, had to rip the bandage off quickly so the pain would be less.

Not that there was any shortage of pain as it was.

Peter turns away from the bedroom, hauling his luggage to the front of the trailer, kicking his duffel bag out the door. He lets the trailer door slam behind him, not bothering to lock it. It was unlikely anyone would come on the property of “gypsy trash” anyway, but even if someone trespassed, Peter really didn’t give a shit. All he cared about now was getting gone.

He threw everything in the back of the station wagon and hastily got in. Shoving the key into the ignition, he nearly turns the engine, when something inside his gut tells him to stop, to wait. So, he takes his hand off the key and sits slumped in the seat.

His thoughts immediately go to Roman, wondering how he was feeling, what he was thinking, if he was questioning where Peter had gone and if he wanted him to come back. He wondered if Roman got the chance to say goodbye to Nadia in some way, because his heart needed him to say goodbye, needed to let her go somewhere greater once she left the safety of his body.

He needed to find peace to give her peace.

Peter felt that he had already began to let go of her in little bursts. Every tear he shed, every fist he threw in anger, every moment of feeling like he had no control was him bidding her farewell piece by piece.  

Peter’s hand comes to rest on the pocket of his shirt, curling his fingers over the list Roman had written, and silently apologizes to his daughter for what he is about to do. And then he lets go of it, symbolically sending her on her way to that somewhere greater. Anywhere is better than here.

But letting go of Roman would be a much different story. He knew, in time, Roman would move on. That’s what people did when they had no other choice, and Peter couldn’t give him a choice. More than that, Roman was beautiful. He was such an incredible beauty that Peter sometimes struggled for breath just looking at him.

And it wasn’t just Peter’s attention he’d gathered; Roman was never short on admirers (or rather, “conquests”) before Peter came along. There was no doubt in his mind that Roman would find someone much worthier of him than Peter ever could be.

Peter knew in his soul that he, however, will never move on. Roman is scored on his heart and will be held there until the day Peter is laid into the cold Earth, perhaps even after that. And though the mere thought of being without Roman nearly kills him, it is for the best.

And so, before he put hundreds of miles between himself and this wretched town, he had to have assurance that Roman would be alright without him. He fishes his phone out of his pocket and immediately sees the five missed calls and two voice messages from Destiny.

Fear begins to churn in his gut and he can’t stop the horrid thoughts that rush through his brain. What if something is wrong? What if something’s happened to Roman? He was in such pain and there was so much blood…what if the bleeding didn’t stop? What if he’s still bleeding right now? Could he be bleeding to death? Or what if…he already has?

Frantically, Peter dials Destiny’s number and tries to keep his breathing steady. She answers on the first ring.

_“Peter??”_

“Yeah,” Peter barely chokes out.

_“Peter, where the fuck are you?? You’ve been gone over an hour! I had half a mind to call the cops on your ass, but—”_

“Is Roman okay?” he cuts her off, his voice tense.

There’s a pause, as if Destiny needs a moment to process Peter’s question. It’s only about three seconds, but it’s long enough to tie his stomach in knots.

_“He’s fine, he’s resting. But he keeps asking for you. I mean, what the hell are you doing? I thought you were just taking a walk around the block.”_

Peter didn’t hear the other half of Destiny’s words, as he’s frozen on just one thing she said: Roman is asking for him. He’s asking for him, but he isn’t coming back. He thinks of all the agonizingly long days and the sleepless nights to come. Will he be asking for him then? And if so, for how long?

For merely a fraction of a second, Peter thinks he’ll stay. He could hear himself telling Destiny that he just ran back to the trailer to get a few of Roman’s things and that he lost track of time. He could take all of his luggage back inside, unpack, and put everything back exactly where it was.

He could then drive back to Destiny’s and beg Roman’s forgiveness for leaving him alone for so long, before taking him in his arms and spending the rest of the day grieving together as they should.

He should do all that, but he couldn’t. And he won’t. Everyone believed Peter was nothing but conniving gypsy garbage since he arrived, and though he’d done a decent job convincing himself he was better than that, he now realized how right they all were.

Even if Roman didn’t see that now, he would eventually. And he couldn’t bear having Roman resent him.

_“Hello? Peter?”_

Peter blinks a few times as Destiny’s voice cuts through his thoughts. He turns the key in the ignition and feels his stomach flutter violently as the engine roars to life. He couldn’t keep putting this off. It was time to remove himself from Roman’s life and from Hemlock Grove.

As he shifts into reverse and slowly backs out of the driveway, all Peter can see is Roman’s face, with that hopeless, heartbroken look he’s been wearing since last night. Peter’s eyes well up as it flashes over and over like a strobe in his mind, but he continues to descend from the trailer yard.

“I’m sorry…” he says quietly, as if Roman were right in front of him.

_“What? Peter, can you hear me? Are you—"_

“Tell Roman… I’m sorry,” Peter says, his voice breaking.

_“You can tell him yourself when you get here.”_

Peter hears his heartbeat drumming in his ears as another silence falls between them.

_“Peter?”_

Silence.

_“You’re scaring me. Where are you?”_

By now, he’s pulled out of the driveway and is turning down the road, leaving the trailer behind for good.

“Just promise me you’ll tell him, okay? Dee, I need you to promise me,” Peter chokes out. “Tell him I’m sorry. I’m so sorry and I love him so much…but I can’t do this.”

Over the phone, Peter can hear rapid shuffling, like Destiny is moving around the apartment, followed by the creak of a door being gently closed. When she comes back on the line, her voice is hushed, but bordering on panic.

_“What the fuck are you saying, Peter?”_

“I have to get out of here. I’m getting out of this cursed fucking town…”

_“What?? No, no, no, no, what are you doing?? Peter—”_

“It’s better this way, Dee. Trust me.”

_“Goddammit, Peter, LISTEN to me! He NEEDS you right now, okay? He needs you, what the fuck are you thinking?! You have to come back, do you hear me? Whatever is going on with you, I’ll help you. I’ll help you get through this together, just… Please, come back.”_

Peter was crying now, as he wanted more than anything to hold Roman as close to him as he could and take every ounce of his pain away. But how could he possibly do that, when he’s the one who caused the pain in the first place?

“I should’ve listened to you, ya know. You told me to stay away from him. And I didn’t. Look where that got us,” Peter mumbles. “So…it’s time I listened.”

_“Don’t do this, Peter. Please, don’t…”_

“Thank you for taking care of Roman when I couldn’t. I can never repay you for that.” He clears his throat. “Tell Roman he’s the moonlight of my life. He has been from the first day I saw him. And he will be until the day I die. I hope he’ll forgive me someday. I’m sorry, Dee.”

_“Wait, don’t! Peter! Don’t do this to him, Peter! You can NOT do this to him! Pet—"_

Peter can still hear Destiny’s desperate cries as he pulls the phone away from his ear and presses a button to end the call. He tosses the phone over his shoulder into the back seat and pushes down hard on the gas pedal. He screams at the windshield as he speeds down the highway, outside the city limits of Hemlock Grove.


	14. Chapter 14

TWO MONTHS LATER

Peter sits in the old wooden swing that hangs from a sturdy sycamore tree in his Aunt Maggie’s backyard, watching as the golden Louisiana sun begins to dip beneath the skyline. He hadn’t been in this swing in years, and to look at, it was certainly nothing special; just an old plank of barn wood, littered with chips of faded red paint and splintered with age, held up by two fraying ropes.

But being back in the swing takes Peter back to a time years ago, when he and Destiny and a handful of cousins he hardly remembered the names of would run around this backyard like wild banshees during family reunions and summer vacations.

Using his foot, he pushes off the ground and propels himself slightly forward, immediately remembering the time he tried to swing a second cousin of his – Ralphie, he wanted to say his name was – so high he would fly over the branch.

“Send him to the moon!” a nine-year-old Destiny had squealed, as she perched herself up in the tree, deeming herself “the judge” of making sure he actually made it all the way over.

At the chanted urging of Destiny and a few of their other cousins, Peter managed to swing Ralphie so high that at one point, he was almost level with the branch. But Ralphie had to get spooked and let go of the ropes on his way back up. He flew a good fifteen feet in front of them, landing hard on his arm and breaking it in two places.

On top of a nice scolding from Aunt Maggie and Ralphie’s mom, Aunt Susan, Peter remembers Lynda whooping his ass pretty good for it. He tried to explain it was Ralphie’s idiot fault for letting go, but he just got the belt a few more times for talking back.

Peter chuckles at the memory, amazed by the innocence of it all. It was hard to imagine a time so much simpler than now, plagued with a naivety he’d kill to get back. His mother always told him not to be in such a rush to grow up, and he wishes he’d listened to her.

He wanted his old life back, the one that made sense, even with all the family rituals and stories and moving to God-knows-where at least three times a year. It was all he knew. But now, he didn’t know a damn thing. He felt like he’d been dropped in the middle of some foreign land with no map, no translator, and no idea where to start.

It had been two months since he left. Nearly eight and a half weeks, sixty-six days since he ran away and trashed any chance of having a happy life.

Peter stares into the intense orange glow of the burning sun and his mind once again goes to him, able to recount every last detail that made Peter fall so in love; his big, bright green eyes, the feel of his smooth alabaster skin underneath Peter’s fingertips, the melody of his laugh when he found humor in something incredibly morbid, the way he looked into Peter’s eyes with such an intense longing, it nearly took his breath, and the way he almost always began a kiss with biting Peter’s bottom lip.

Oh, how missing Roman made his bones ache.

He’d lost Roman forever, and it was entirely his own doing. There was no way in the entire cosmos of the universe that Peter could fix or change what he’d done. He’d walked out on Roman, left him to grieve the loss of their baby alone. He was the worst kind of coward he could imagine.

He remembered that day with such startling clarity, every moment, every thought, every feeling. He knew the second he made it outside the city limits, he’d made a tremendous mistake. But his shame prevented him from turning the car around. And there was no reason in the world to justify his desertion.

More than anything, he wanted to go back, all the way back. He never would’ve left Roman’s side like he had promised, and they’d be working through the devastation of their loss together instead of painfully apart.

Now his eyes stung and it had nothing to do with the blinding sunset. He looks down and squeezes his eyes shut, making the burning of potential tears travel down his nasal cavity. He rubs his palm roughly over his nose until the pain subsides.

Suddenly, Peter hears the muffled sound of footsteps coming up behind him. He hastily runs his hands under his eyes and over his cheeks, making sure all remnants of tears are gone before turning around to see Lynda making her way to him.

When their eyes meet, Lynda gives him one of her gentle, motherly smiles, signaling she’s about to begin a conversation Peter more than likely wants nothing to do with.

As she passes by, she runs a hand across Peter’s shoulders before coming to stand against the tree. She turns her face to the warm sunset, basking in the comforting glow of orange that casts on her skin.

Peter watches her solemnly, realizing once again just how beautiful his mother is. All the years of ripping up stakes and bouncing around from town to town and state to state barely shows on Lynda. Since Peter was a little boy, she has lived her life with vibrancy and she has exuded positivity in any given situation, no matter the stakes.

And though he tries to tell her as often as he can in as many ways as he can, Peter knows Lynda could never understand the magnitude of his admiration for her.

“It’s breathtaking, isn’t it?” Lynda breathes, looking at the entire sky with wonder.

“Yeah, it’s pretty,” Peter replies.

“You know, I’ve always thought the sun was prettiest in Louisiana,” Lynda says.

She looks over at Peter with a smile and carefully grabs onto one of the ropes holding up the swing.

“God, I can’t remember the last time I saw you in this swing,” she says. “You must’ve been eight or nine, I’d say.”

“Probably the last time I was up here… A family reunion or something. I don’t remember,” Peter shrugs.

Then, Lynda’s brow creases. “Didn’t you try to kill Ralphie on this thing once?”

“He LET GO of the ropes! It wasn’t my fault,” Peter exasperates, as if the argument had never ended.

“Okay, but whose idea was it to send him flying in the first place?” Lynda laughs.

“…Destiny’s,” Peter replies lamely.

“Right…”

Just as quickly as it began, the conversation drops. Lynda’s eyes drift back to the falling sun while Peter gazes down into the grass.

The air begins to settle into a strange heaviness around them, like they’re trapped in a bubble without enough oxygen. Peter could chalk it up to good old-fashioned August humidity, but he knows better. And the longer he sits here, with the silence between him and Lynda growing more immense by the second, the harder he finds it to breathe.

He hears Lynda let out a deep sigh beside him and Peter feels all of his muscles tense, like he’s bracing himself for an eruption, but Lynda speaks gently, weighing her words carefully.

“You know, I haven’t said anything since you got here. For two whole months, I’ve kept my mouth shut, figured you’d talk when you were ready. But you show up out of the blue, no phone call, no text, no nothing. And that immediately sets off an alarm in my head…but I was just so happy to see you, I looked past it. Part of me, also, was content in believing you just missed me.”

Peter can hear the smile in her voice and it’s almost enough to loosen the knot in his stomach. He glances up at her just quickly enough to see the worry gleaming in her eyes as they bore into him, and it makes him shrink into the swing.

“But, I can’t keep believing that, Peter, because I know. I know there’s something. And you’re running from it,” Lynda says gravely. “It must be bad, too; otherwise, you never would’ve left him.”

Peter feels a shot of ice run through him. He slowly looks up at his mother, who stands tall against the tree with her arms crossed, looking at him the way she always used to when he had done something questionable and she was waiting for an explanation.

He wondered if he had always been so transparent to her. Could he truly NOT hide anything? A fear hits him suddenly, as his entire relationship with Roman plays through his mind like an out of control film reel, and he questions the possibility of his mother already knowing everything.

Though he knows playing dumb would only prove to be futile, he takes a shot anyway.

“I don’t know what you’re—”

“Cut the shit, baby,” Lynda interjects. “We’ll get through this so much faster.”

Peter sighs and looks down at the ground, having no idea where to start and no idea what to tell her and what to leave out. He also wasn’t expecting that the mere mention of Roman (named or not) would feel like a punch to the chest. He doesn’t say anything more, because it would physically hurt him to do so.

“Is that what this is about? Roman?” Lynda asks.

Peter stays quiet, hoping his silence will serve as confirmation.

“You’re sleeping with him,” she states, rather than asks.

Peter quickly steals a glance at his mother’s face, searching for a trace of emotion; anger, disappointment, sadness, anything. But her expression is stuck in neutral and she watches him with soft, seemingly understanding eyes.

“Can’t say I’m surprised,” she sniffs. “Ever since you met, there was like…some line connecting you two. The way you’d move around him and he’d move around you, like you were both part of your own little dance; wanting to draw the other in, but afraid of getting too close.”

Peter feels his body begin to tremble as he pictures Roman’s face in his mind. Each hand grabs the ropes of the swing, trying to keep himself steady.

“It’s like…you came alive when he was around. Like he woke you up when you didn’t even know you were asleep,” Lynda says, smiling warmly at Peter. “It was a beautiful thing to see.”

Hot tears stream down Peter’s face as he weighs his mother’s words. It hit him how interesting it was that Lynda described he and Roman’s connection the same way he felt it himself _. “…there was some line connecting you two,”_ she had said, and she was right. From their very first encounter, it was as if Roman had tied a lasso around Peter, pulling him closer and closer with each passing day.

Roman knew, too. He’d said from the beginning that he and Peter were meant for something bigger, and though it took Peter a while to figure out exactly what that meant, Roman had known from the start.

And he never gave up on him for a second. Even when Peter found himself falling in love with Roman and tried to push him away in denial, Roman wouldn’t budge. He let Peter wander, let him try to find himself in other things and other people, because Roman knew that what was meant to be, their “something bigger”, would be.

Peter now knows that the “something bigger” was supposed to be Nadia.

“Anyway, I’m not upset,” Lynda says, completely misreading Peter’s tears. “He’s a Godfrey, but… I like him. He’s got moxy.”

Peter covers his face with his hands, clenching every fiber in his body to keep himself from losing it completely. He hated falling apart in front of Lynda. She never liked to see him hurting. 

“So…” Lynda sighs. “It went bad? One of you broke it off or… _someone_ found out?”

Peter doesn’t have to be a genius to know that by “someone”, she most likely means Olivia. And while Olivia undoubtedly knows more than she should, Peter refutes her question with a fervent shake of his head.

“You wanted different things, maybe? One fell in love while the other didn’t?”

“No,” Peter sniffs, shaking his head. “It’s none of that.”

“Then what?” Lynda says, her voice docile but stern. “Whatever it is, we can figure it out.”

But Peter just continues to shake his head. “There’s nothing to figure out. It’s already happened, it’s done.”

“ _What_ is done?” Lynda presses.

Peter sighs, tired of the go-around, tired of this entire conversation. He knows it would be so much easier to lay everything out on the table and get it over with. He forces the words out of his mouth before he loses his nerve.

“Roman was pregnant.”

As soon as he says it, finally says it, it becomes eerily, hauntingly silent; the birds and the crickets don’t even seem to be making noise. Peter’s eyes dart to Lynda, whose face remains unwaveringly stoic. If she’s surprised by his confession, it doesn’t show. Her calm demeanor makes him nervous, and he feels his body shrink a bit, as if he’s waiting for a nuclear bomb to explode.

It feels like an hour has passed before Lynda’s voice slices through the quiet.

“‘Was’?” is all she says.

Peter nods. “We lost it… _Her._ We lost _her_.” It still killed him to even think about Nadia, much less talk about her.

Lynda lets out a deep breath before coming to stand next to Peter. She begins softly running her fingers through his hair.

“Oh, baby. I’m so sorry…” she says.

Peter bristles at her attempt at comfort.

“Don’t feel sorry for me,” he says. “I don’t deserve it.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Lynda retorts. “Of course you—”

“NO!” Peter shouts, shooting up from the swing and kicking his foot at a patch of tall grass. Lynda goes still, gaping at him in surprise.

When he turns to look at his mother, Peter’s face is hard as stone.

“I walked out, Ma. I fucking ran, like a coward. I ran, and Roman is dealing with this alone. I didn’t even have the balls to tell him I was leaving.”

Peter then turns to face the setting sun, which has turned the sky into a swirling canvas of delicate pinks and purples. He breathes steadily, trying to fight the nauseas feeling that’s beginning to creep into his stomach.

Behind him, he hears Lynda let out a resigned sigh.

“I did this,” she says.

Peter turns to look at her, perplexed, and he watches as she stares, unblinking, at the ground in front of her.

“I taught you to run. I’ve always done that, you know; I ran away when things got just a little too real. I’ve never really faced anything in my life,” she says, her eyes flitting up to her son. “And I’ve instilled that in you.”

Peter shakes his head. “I made the decision, Mom. It was all me.”

“It’s all you know.”

“I still know right from wrong. Leaving him was wrong, it was…unforgivable,” Peter says. “I knew that. And I did it anyway.”

Lynda strides over to him through the tall grass, her face stern, like she’s ready for a fight. She stands in front of him with her arms folded.

“Okay, so you know it was wrong. Good. You know what you do now? You take your skinny ass back to Hemlock Grove and you make it right.”

Peter shakes his head. “It’s too late.”

“It’s never too late,” Lynda replies.

“No, I… I’ve fucked up so bad. There’s nothing I could possibly do to make this right,” Peter says. Then, his chin wobbles and his eyes start to water as they shift away from his mother’s. “Roman would never forgive me, anyway. He’d never have me back.”

Lynda grabs Peter’s face with firm hands and pulls him so close to her, their noses are nearly touching.

“That boy’s in love with you. You’d be amazed at the things he’ll forgive.”

Peter looks at his mother, letting himself succumb to the love and compassion pouring from her warm, brown eyes. She gingerly pushes the hair out of his face and plants a hard kiss on his forehead.

“You want him back? You know what you have to do.”

Through the tears in his eyes, Peter gives his mother a bright smile and wraps his arms around her in a tight embrace. Lynda kisses the side of Peter’s head, and when Peter releases her from his arms, he grabs her hands and gives them a gentle squeeze.

“I gotta go,” he says quietly.

“Be careful,” Lynda says. “I love you.”

Peter lets his mother’s hand slip from his as he swiftly moves past her and hits a dead run back up the hill. His eyes stare straight ahead with razor sharp focus as he pushes his legs through the sea of tall grass and foliage and, unconsciously, he begins to laugh.

It’s a joyous, melodious sound that rings like a bell throughout the sky, and as it escapes him, he feels the heaviness that’s been harbored in his heart for the past couple of months finally begin to lift.  


	15. Chapter 15

_Roman’s eye lids finally flutter open a little past noon, his head pounding as his vision fights against the brightness of his surroundings. Darting from one end of the room to the other, his eyes glance around with almost no recognition, and for seemingly no reason, a sense of fear suddenly begins to grow in his belly._

_Habitually, his body stretches out across the mattress, and something inside him shudders when he feels the emptiness on the other side of the bed._

_Slowly, he sits himself up and when the lower half of his body immediately begins screaming with soreness, everything comes back to him like a sickening punch to the gut._

_He lost his daughter this morning…really lost her. Just yesterday, he’d carried her, blissfully unaware of the fact that she had died inside of him. Her beautiful, fragile little life disappeared right from under his nose and he hadn’t even noticed._

_He would give anything, pay any price to have that ignorance back, just so he could have her with him for a few hours longer._

_He’d already picked out a name for her and he was planning on running it by Peter last night, before their peace and happiness was ripped to shreds. After nearly fifteen hours of the most extreme pain he’d ever felt in his life, he gave Nadia Emmeline Rumancek to the world, but not in the way he was supposed to._

_He’d imagined what her birth would be like, six months from now as it was intended. He pictured the type of scene you’d expect to see in any movie: him sweaty and writhing in pain on a bed while Peter gripped his hand and tried to coach him through it._

_He’d scream endless obscenities at Peter, blaming him and his dick for putting him through this, and Peter would just brush off the comments, assuring Roman he was the strongest, most amazing man he knew. And when it was time, Roman would push and push until he felt like he couldn’t anymore, and then Peter would convince him to try just one last time, which he would._

_And it would be the push that finally gave them their daughter. Nadia would be placed in his arms, so beautiful despite being all slippery and purple and screaming, and he and Peter would look upon her and weep with joy. They would have their little family at last._

_Yes, it was stereotypical and grossly cliché, but any scenario would have been better than the reality. After it happened, he lied in the bottom of Destiny’s clawfoot bathtub, feeling like all of his insides had just dropped out of him with her. He refused to look at anything below, forcing his eyes up at the ceiling and nothing else._

_The last thing he remembered was seeing just a glance of Destiny hovering over the tub, wearing white latex gloves and clutching a plastic bag in her hand. That was when he tried to shut down, turn himself off from the rest of the world, though it was far too late. He’d felt too much, seen too much, so much he’d never be able to forget._

_The memory makes his stomach feel sick and he shifts in the bed. When he turns, he startles to find Destiny sitting in the armchair by the window, making her offer him a tiny smile of apology. She watches him with big, careful eyes, her body not even a shade of relaxed._

_“How did you sleep?” she asks. Something about her tone makes him uneasy._

_“I don’t think I did,” Roman replies, rubbing his eyes with his fingers._

_“Any pain to speak of? If there’s even a little bit, you have to tell me,” she says._

_He shakes his head. “Not really.”_

_As he looks around, an unexplainable tremble once again runs through Roman’s body as he realizes something is missing. **He** is missing._

_“Where’s Peter?” he asks._

_He watches as Destiny’s face twists into an unreadable expression, like anger and sadness and disbelief all rolled into one. Her jaw goes rigid and her eyes set on him, soft but unblinking. She stares at him silently, and Roman feels a sense of dread wash over him._

_“Destiny,” he says, fighting the shakiness in his voice. “Where is he?”_

_For a moment, Destiny seems to look past him, drilling her eyes into the wall._

_“He, uh…left,” she mutters. “Peter left.”_

_Roman remembered that part, that Peter had walked out not only once, but twice. Roman was grateful for him leaving the first time, when the beginnings of labor hit him, and he ended up having a meltdown that, unfortunately, Peter walked right in the middle of. Just thinking about it now filled him with such humiliation. He’d never wanted Peter to see him like that, to appear so weak and pathetic in front of him._

_But the second time he left was the time that hurt. Roman had finally passed their baby after seemingly endless hours of excruciating pain, and he needed Peter more than he’d ever needed him during this whole thing. But instead of the comfort he so longed for, Peter ran out of the bathroom without a word, like he couldn’t get away fast enough. Aside from having to part with his poor, innocent baby, the memory of Peter running out that door, away from him, hurt him the most._

_“I know he left,” Roman said. “But, surely, he’s back by now.”_

_Now he really didn’t like the way Destiny was looking at him, or how her body was resting in the chair, or anything else about her demeanor. Her entire presence suddenly exuded something awful, something foreboding._

_Roman felt his breath hitch in his throat as he watched her, fighting the next question from his mouth, which had gone bone dry._

_“Why are you looking at me like that?” his lip quivers. “What’s wrong, where’s Peter?”_

_“Roman—”_

_“No! You’re fucking scaring me, what’s going on??”_

_He can see Destiny’s eyes go shiny as she clears her throat._

_“’You are the moonlight of my life’,” she recites, tears heavy in her voice. “He wanted me to tell you that. And that he’s sorry… He loves you, and he’s sorry.”_

_No. NO. No, no, no, no, no…_

_Roman’s expression narrows at Destiny, his gaze so seething, it makes her squirm uneasily in her seat._

_“He’s ‘sorry’?” Roman repeats, his low voice practically a growl. “Sorry for what?”_

_Destiny’s face hardens, her eyes locking on his, and Roman watches as her throat involuntarily swallows once, then twice, before she whispers, “He’s not coming back, Roman.”_

_As soon as she utters the words, Roman feels rage boil over inside him and spread like wildfire throughout his entire body. What kind of sick joke was that to play on someone in Roman’s position? How could she say that Peter is gone and he’s not coming back, when he promised Roman he’d never lose him? Peter loved him, and Roman loved Peter; they were meant to be together. Didn’t she fucking know that?_

_He opens his mouth and then he closes it in the same breath, the anger rendering him unable to speak, and his jaw clenches so tightly, the muscles in his face begin to twitch._

_When his arms begin trembling, he wraps himself in a constrictive embrace to keep in control._

_“That’s not fucking funny,” Roman hisses, his lips twisting into a grimace._

_“You’re right. It’s not,” Destiny replies. “He had absolutely no right to do this to you. No fucking right.”_

_A formidable ache bellows in the pit of Roman’s stomach as he feels panic rising in his chest. Peter couldn’t have done what she said he’s done; there’s no way in the deepest, hottest part of Hell Peter would ever do that. Not to Roman, not after all of this._

_“No…” Roman shakes his head, his voice sounding far away suddenly. “No, he probably just…lost track of time or something. Or got turned around… He’s coming back. He has to come back…right?”_

_He can see the compassion, the pity in Destiny’s face, and though he tries to look away, she has already caught his eye, and he can’t. She gets up from the chair and comes to sit beside him on the bed, her gaze never once leaving his._

_“Roman,” Destiny says, carefully placing a hand on his knee. “I’m so sorry, I… I tried to stop him, I really did. I begged him not to do this.”_

_Suddenly, Roman’s eyes begin to sting with tears and he fights to keep them at bay._

_“But…he wouldn’t just leave and not come back. I mean, that’s just fucking ridiculous. That’s not Peter, he wouldn’t do that to me,” Roman chokes. “Not after…the baby.”_

_Destiny feels her heart breaking as she watches the reality of Peter’s abandonment working on Roman, and she mentally prepares to pick up the pieces when he breaks. God, she couldn’t believe he did this. In the blink of an eye, Peter, the one person in the world she thought she knew better than anyone, became a complete stranger._

_She knew he was struggling to come to terms with the miscarriage, as any father would. The events of this morning were particularly rough and after it was all said and done, she wanted Peter to do anything he could to make some semblance of peace for both his and Roman’s sakes. But never in her wildest dreams did she imagine he would end up doing something like this._

_Had he always been a runner, letting Lynda lead him by the nose from one place to the next? Yes. And on the same hand, was it his fault for his Rumancek blood? No, no more than it was hers. But if she’d learned anything in the past twenty-four hours, it was this: Peter was truly, deeply in love with Roman Godfrey._

_And that love should’ve been enough to make him stay._

_Whatever stupid ideas Peter had in his head about this whole situation, Destiny didn’t understand. Did he honestly blame himself, or was that just some excuse he conjured up to justify leaving like a coward? She had no idea and it hardly mattered now. The man Destiny thought Peter was no longer existed, and she would do everything in her power to repair the damage he’d left behind._

_Roman is now looking at her with such a terrified shock in his eyes. It’s the very same look he had when she first broke the news that he’d lost the baby, and it makes her stomach twinge. Without even thinking about it, she takes Roman’s hand in hers, and gently massages his fingers._

_“I want you to listen to me,” she says, her tone soft, but serious. “I’m gonna help you through this, okay? You are not alone, Roman. Whatever I can do to…make this better, I will. Everything is gonna be okay. I promise.”_

_Suddenly, Roman’s anger resurfaces with a burst of vengeance. He’d really had enough of this game; he needed Peter to come back, right now._

_Abruptly, he throws the comforter off of him, making Destiny jump back, and swings his legs over the edge of the bed._

_“This is bullshit!” Roman spits, pushing himself up._

_Once he’s on his feet, his legs nearly give out beneath him. He winces at the soreness of his muscles, yet another painful reminder of what he went through this morning. As he staggers through the archway and into the living room, Destiny is hot on his heels._

_“Roman, where are you going?”_

_“I’m going to find Peter.”_

_“You need to get back in bed, Roman,” she exasperates. “Your body needs to rest!”_

_“I’m going to find Peter!” he shouts back._

_He doesn’t even bother looking for his shoes or a set of car keys as he makes his way to the front door. Destiny stops just outside the archway and watches helplessly, not knowing what he’s going to do or how to stop him._

_When Roman gets to the front door, he grabs onto the doorknob, but can’t make his hand turn it. As he looks down at his fingers, turning white with the tightness of his grip, he feels something drop in his stomach. It’s like a nuclear bomb, detonating everything on contact and leaving nothing but emptiness in its wake._

_Destiny said Peter was gone. She didn’t say that he was missing, or that she didn’t know where he was, but that he was GONE. As in he left for good and is probably miles and miles away by now. But that couldn’t possibly be right._

_Roman knew Peter and remembered his promise that they would be a family, that Peter would protect him and their baby no matter what the cost, and that Roman would never lose him._

_That’s what his head is telling him, anyway. But the heart always speaks the truth. And despite the pretty words and promises, the truth of the matter was this: Peter Rumancek was a runner._

_Roman had been aware of his gypsy nature as soon as he and Lynda blew into town, and though he knew better than to get close to him, he simply couldn’t help himself. Something about the mystery surrounding Peter was just…electrifying to him. And the harder he tried to resist his pull to him, the more impossible it became._

_And once Roman finally got Peter…it was practically magic. No, it was better than that. It was love; the kind of earth-shattering, heart racing, soul clenching love Roman thought only existed in fiction. Peter had become his sun, his stars, his entire world, and he knew without a shadow of a doubt that his life was meant to be given wholly to Peter._

_But now… Now that all of their hope for the future was dead, did Peter’s promise die with it?_

_Roman feels a painful swelling in his lungs as tears immediately spill over his lashes and run down his face. He squeezes his eyes shut and lets his chin fall into his chest, letting his grief once again take the reigns. Where was his sun and his stars? Why would he disappear like this, leaving Roman’s sky so unbearably dark?_

_When he opens his eyes, his vision catches a splash of brilliant red just below his waist. It doesn’t take him but a second to realize that he’s bled through the striped pajama pants Peter had brought him last night._

_And finally, it hits him like a sledgehammer to the chest, knocking every ounce of oxygen from his body._

_He releases the doorknob and lets his hand fall to his side just as Destiny comes up behind him and gently takes hold of his shoulders. She barely has a grip on him when his knees buckle beneath him and he collapses, dead weight, in her arms, making them both stumble down to the floor._

_Roman’s body hits the ground first and Destiny lands heavily on top of him. She feels every part of him trembling beneath her, but instead of moving to give him space, her arms wrap around him like a protective shield. She rests her head on top of his, closes her eyes, and waits._

_And then, Roman starts screaming._

_~*~*~*~_

Like a recurring nightmare, the memory of that day ends right as Roman’s alarm clock sounds, just as it has every morning for the past two months. And just like every morning, he’s awake hours before he’s supposed to be, too empty to feel peaceful enough to get much sleep. It was almost alarming to think that part of him was actually getting used to it.

Once Peter’s desertion became truly apparent, Roman didn’t speak for three days. He took to Destiny’s bed, cocooning himself in her bed covers and doing little more than existing. The pain was too much, the loss too great for him to even want to be conscious. He found himself wishing he would just go to sleep and never wake up.

Every hour or two, between his failed attempts at rest, he would hear Destiny tip-toe into the room. He’d close his eyes and feign sleep so he wouldn’t be acknowledged. She would sometimes say his name or softly run her fingers through his bangs for some sort of reaction, but he remained still. Then, she’d usually utter some Romani curse in Peter’s name and walk back out.

He knew she was worried and fretting over him, he just didn’t care.

But that only flew for the first day or so. Eventually, Destiny would barge in and force him out of the bed, asleep or not, to make him bathe or shove even the barest means of food down his throat. His bleeding had slowed down exponentially, but it was still heavy enough to require a daily bath or two and an occasional change of sheets.

He often felt too exhausted or nauseated to eat, but three times a day, Destiny still insisted he try. He consumed enough to keep himself alive, to appease her, but nothing more.

Aside from keeping him clean and fed, she never pushed him. With him, she was persistent, but empathetic; distant, but watchful. During their few interactions, she never urged him to talk about Peter or the baby or anything he was feeling. Meal and bath times consisted of her cheerily talking his ear off about any old thing, and he suspected she did so just to keep his mind occupied with something else. He never contributed anything more than a nod or a slight smile to the conversation, but she seemed to be pleased with that.

And then, she would let him go right back to the bed if that’s where he wanted to go, which it always was. She would smile and tell him she was there if he needed her, but Roman would catch the sadness and worry in her eyes, and he’d go back to bed with his guilt.

By the fourth day, Roman realized Destiny had cancelled a couple of her appointments to watch him and he decided that was enough. Now, her livelihood was being threatened all because he couldn’t bear to face his situation. It wasn’t fair to her anymore, and he knew he had to start moving himself along.

He didn’t want to…in fact, the thought made him want to go out in the way of his dear old dad, but he couldn’t do that. He wouldn’t give Peter the satisfaction of knowing he’d destroyed him.

Early that morning, Roman forced himself out of bed and came to sit out in the living room with Destiny, who was ecstatic that he’d gotten up on his own. He told her he thought it was time that he left so she could have her life back, but Destiny refused to let him leave without him having a place to go.

After a bit of arguing back and forth, she offered to help him find an apartment or a house if he agreed to stay for the time being, which he did.

So, for the next three weeks, he and Destiny continued the real estate adventure that he and Peter started. He had his 18th birthday at the beginning of August, and he celebrated by gaining control of the trust fund his father left for him and buying a quaint industrial style home hidden deep in the woods on the north side of Kilderry Park.

Once all the paperwork was signed and he had the keys to the place, he went back to his mom’s house so he could tell Shelley what was going on. He was usually very consistent about texting her every day, just to ask her how she was and to make sure she was safe, but he’d been fairly laxed on it since the miscarriage and he didn’t want her to think he’d forgotten about her.  

But, being the kind, forgiving soul that she was, when Roman came up in the elevator to her room, Shelley swooped him up in her arms and happily swung him around. And Roman was so overcome by her unconditional love for him that he broke down sobbing as soon as she set him back on the ground.

Worried, she pulled him into a hug and he cried into her shoulder as he told her that he lost the baby, which made her cry a little as well. Roman knew she was so excited about becoming an aunt. Then her sadness turned to anger when Roman told her Peter ran away; so much so that she actually began to stomp around the room a bit, but Roman quickly calmed her down so they wouldn’t attract Olivia’s attention.

He didn’t know if her anger was more about Peter leaving him after the loss of their child or the fact that Peter left, period. But he decided it really didn’t matter.

Then, he told Shelley that he planned to sue Olivia for custody of her, which made Shelley fidget nervously. More than anything, he wanted Shelley to come live with him at his new place, away from the constant scorn and disdain of their mother.

But Roman knew Olivia would never give her up without a fight; it was all about what she could get and keep others from getting. And though he didn’t want to get the courts involved, he didn’t have much choice, and he would hire lawyer after lawyer until he got her out of here. No amount of money was too exorbitant to save his little sister.

Before bidding her farewell, he promised to bring her over to the new house once he got all moved in. He let her squeeze him tightly one more time and then rode the elevator back down to the foyer.

He was about to stride out the front door when he felt it, her presence an icy chill prickling the back of his neck. Stopping dead in his tracks, he turned to see just what he expected. Olivia once again stood on the staircase, her eyes practically black as she silently stared at him.

Roman wouldn’t give this encounter a chance to turn into the last one, so before Olivia could hiss out one word, he simply said, “I’m moving out” and slammed the door behind him.

Two days later, he led a hired moving crew back to the house to pack up and move all of his things to the new house. And to his surprise, Olivia never once interfered or even made herself known. He tried to be relieved, but her complete absence made him nervous, like she was orchestrating some dire consequence for him and just waiting for the right moment to unleash it.

With the moving crew and Destiny’s help, Roman was able to get all moved in and settled in less than a day. Seeing this house – this _home_ – come together piece by piece filled him with some sense of hope after so much pain, but even more so, it made his heart ache.

This could’ve been _their_ home; this could’ve been the place he and Peter found together and filled up with their plans and hopes and memories. This could’ve been the place they would eventually bring their baby girl home to and watch her grow up in. Could’ve been… Any time the thought would cross Roman’s mind, he would busy himself with unpacking or cleaning something to stuff it away, for a little while at least.

At one point, he remembered that he still had a lot of his stuff in Peter’s trailer, mostly his nice suits and bedding and personal items. Destiny had offered to go get them for him, but Roman told her not to bother. This was a new beginning, and he wanted to leave all of that stuff there, in their past.  

That evening, once everything was more or less moved in and Roman assured her over and over that he would be fine on his own for the night, he walked Destiny out to her car. Before she had a chance to find another excuse to stay, Roman thrusted a bulky envelope toward her.

“What’s this?” Destiny’s brow creased.

“A little something for your trouble,” Roman said.

Destiny rolled her eyes. “Don’t be stupid, it wasn’t any trouble,” she laughed.

“Just take it,” Roman insisted, shaking the envelope in front of her face.

Giving him a narrowed look, she took it from his hand and opened it. As she rifled through its contents, her breath escaped in a gasp and she wobbled a bit on her feet. Her head shot up to look at him, eyes as wide as saucers.

“Roman, wha- what is this??”

“Five-thousand dollars. I can do ten, if that’s not enough.”

“W-what…the fuck?! Five-th- What the hell is it for??”

“Everything,” Roman shrugged. “You know, I was going to pay you for your midwife service anyway.”

“Yeah, but this is way…WAY above my pay rate,” she said, practically throwing the envelope back at him. “No, Roman. I appreciate it, I really do, but I can’t take that kinda money from you.”

“Please… The institute makes five times that in a day. It’s not gonna hurt me financially to give you at least a fraction of what you’re owed.”

“But—”

“Destiny, please, I…” Roman stammered, emotion beginning to swell in his throat. “I can’t ever be able to repay you for all that you’ve done for me. This is the very least I can do, alright? I lost the baby and you were there the whole time, supporting me and encouraging me and…”

Roman trailed off a bit as a couple of tears ran down his cheeks. He hastily wiped them away.

“And you took me in when…he left, and you let me mope around like a pathetic fucking loser for days, and you never made me feel bad about it, not once. And then, you help me find this place and move in, I mean…fuck, you didn’t have to do all that! Especially since I know…I haven’t always been your favorite person. And with good reason; I’m really shitty sometimes. But you were able to put your feelings for me aside to help me, and…that really means a lot.

I mean, I’ve pretty much lost everything, but out of it all, I do feel like I gained a friend.”

The next thing he knew, Destiny had her arms flung around his neck in a tight embrace. He hugged her in return and swayed her back and forth a bit when he heard her sniffling into his chest. When she finally let go of him, she wiped her eyes and gave him one of the brightest smiles he had ever seen.

“Thank you, Roman. That was really nice to hear,” she said. Then, she tried once again to hand the envelope back to him. “But you don’t have to buy my friendship. You’ve already got it.”

“That’s not what I’m doing. I just want you to have it. It’s my way of saying ‘thank you’,” Roman replied.

Destiny sniffed her tears away and nodded. “Well, it’ll…definitely help things, a lot,” she said.

“I know it will.”

She hugged him again, and thanked him a record total of seven times before getting into her car and driving off into the night, leaving Roman alone for the first time in over a month. She came by about twice a week to have dinner with him or to “fix” his attempts at interior decorating, which she described as ‘a cry for help’, and he appreciated the occasional company.

His hope was that, eventually, he would get so immersed in this new house and new way of living, he would forget about his old life and everything that he’d lost.

But he’s been in this house for almost a month, and that has yet to happen. Every night, he’s dreamt of Peter; their entire relationship playing out from start to finish like a storybook romance, the inevitable, tragic end always waking Roman up in the morning. He couldn’t escape the pain of losing Peter, even in slumber.

And since he just woke up from the same bad dream, he goes about the same morning routine. Dragging himself out of bed, he trudges into the bathroom with nothing but Peter’s face in his mind. He quickly brushes his teeth and stumbles into the shower, turning on water so hot, it nearly scalds his flesh.

He stands directly under the shower head, letting the water run over his face and into his eyes, praying the intense temperature of it will be enough to drive the dream out of this head.

But, like every morning before this one, it doesn’t work.  


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm SO SORRY it took me so long to finish this chapter!! Life has been utterly insane and I felt like I never had time to sit down and write. I'll try to get the next one posted much sooner
> 
> Anyway, enjoy! <3
> 
> Also, I love the dialogue in 2x1 when Peter comes back and goes to see Roman, so I snagged it. I prefer to say “put a twist on it”, but ya know.

After, roughly, twenty-one hours of driving, with at least six pitstops along the way, Peter could finally see the sign welcoming him back to Hemlock Grove up ahead. The sight of it made his stomach twirl in relief that’d he’d made it one piece, and with dread over what was to become of him now that he was here.

It was nearing dark as he drove past the sign with increasing speed, eager to get to the side of town he needed to be on before it got too late. Once he makes it downtown, he slows to take everything in; the dilapidated buildings, the cars parked haphazardly along the streets, the people strolling along the sidewalk, eyeballing his car with a barely-masked suspicion he thought he’d be used to by now.

When he makes it to the apartment building, he quickly parks on the side of the street and runs up to catch the front door as another couple is leaving. If he were to ring the bell, he’s not sure he would be let in. He trots up the winding staircase and comes to stand in front of the correct door, but he hesitates to knock.

Now that he thinks about it, he has no idea what he’s doing here. He certainly has no right to be, and he’s sure he won’t be received with open arms. But he knows he has to see her, not only to make right by her, but because he needs her. She’s his best friend, and she’s the only one who’s ever really been able to help him through anything.

It was a Friday night and he knew she would be home, as she much preferred to begin her weekend drinking rituals from the comfort of her couch than at a bar. Peter always thought that was smart; if you overdid it and passed out, at least you’d be in your own house.

Knowing he’s stalling, he takes a deep breath and holds it as he knocks.

It only takes a couple of seconds for Destiny to answer the door, and when she does, Peter can’t help but notice how the color drains from her face when she sees him. Besides the wide shock in her eyes, her expression is struck completely blank as she stands eerily still in front of him. The silence pushes heavily on Peter’s eardrums, and when it becomes too much to stand, he speaks.

“Hey,” Peter says.

He barely gets the word out when Destiny’s eyes flood with a sudden fury, and her hand swings at him, making contact with the side of his face. Peter waits a couple of seconds before casually rubbing the sting out of his cheek, trying to play it off like it didn’t hurt nearly as much as it did.

Of course, he expected the anger. And a mere slap to the face is tame compared to what he deserved; he was surprised Destiny didn’t fire a few shots at him when she opened the door.

And then, out of nowhere, she grabs him and pulls him into a tight embrace. In his confusion, it takes him a second or two to hug her back.

“You’re such a fucking idiot,” she mutters harshly into his ear.

“I know,” he replies.

She lets go and waves him into the apartment impatiently. He quickly walks through the door like a pet that’s just been scolded. He comes to stand awkwardly just outside the living room and Destiny stomps past him into the kitchen. She grabs a cigarette from her pack on the counter and lights it in one fluid motion.

Taking a long drag, she shoots Peter a sharp look and points to one of the barstools at the kitchen island.

“Sit!” she barks.

Peter scurries over to a barstool and clumsily hoists himself onto it, sitting with his spine straight and at attention. Puffing on her cigarette, Destiny leans against the stove with her arms folded, her steely gaze piercing into Peter’s flesh.

He can feel the sweat beading along the edge of his forehead. He has no delusions about who would win in a battle of strength; even if he were to let the wolf emerge, he’s pretty sure Destiny would still be able to kick his ass. He wonders, for a second, if it will come to that as she’s looking at him like she wants to rip his throat out.

“I…I don’t even…” she starts, but just shakes her head incredulously.

She takes another inhale off the cigarette and lets the smoke seep out of her nostrils, trying to relax before she speaks again.

“I don’t know what the fuck to say to you right now,” she scoffs. At her scorn, Peter’s head automatically lowers.

“Where the fuck were you?”

“Louisiana. I went to Aunt Maggie’s.”

Destiny’s face twists into an even deeper scowl as her seething glare slices him to the bone.

“Well, I hope you had a nice time,” she says sarcastically.

“I didn’t,” Peter shoots back, meeting her with desperate eyes, pleading that she understand. “Look, I know you’re pissed—"

“Oh, I’m way past ‘pissed’.”

“You don’t understand…”

“I understand plenty. Life got a little too real for a second and instead of facing it like a man, you run away with your fucking tail between your legs, and leave a complete goddamn mess behind you,” Destiny seethes. “Am I close? Am I in the ballpark here, Peter?”

Peter bites down on his lip and looks away. Her words bring tears of shame to his eyes, because that is exactly what he did. How could he possibly turn this in his favor? To even try would be a disgrace. He didn’t deserve understanding.

Destiny takes one last hit off of her cigarette before throwing it down into the sink. She exhales the smoke out of her mouth in a huff and she stares Peter down in menacing silence.

“Do you have any idea what you put him through? What you put _me_ through?” she practically growls. “Roman’s here, _miscarrying your child_ , and I have no idea where the fuck you are. You won’t answer my calls, you won’t answer my texts, Roman won’t stop asking for you and I don’t know what to tell him! I mean, what was I _supposed_ to tell him? That I can’t find you because you ran off like a fucking scaredy-ass coward?!

And then! When I finally do manage to get a hold of your ass, you want me to tell Roman how much you love him and that you’re sorry? How _dare_ you put that on me! I had no business telling him those things, Peter, because they should’ve been coming from you!”

Feeling all of the frustration she’s been burying deep down come rushing to the surface, she can’t help the tears that come to her eyes. Peter’s surprised gaze is fixed on her and she quickly blinks the tears away and moves to lean across the counter of the island, their faces not even a foot away from each other.

“How could you do that to him, Peter?” she asks, a sob caught in her throat. “Roman was a _mess_ when you left! He didn’t talk, he didn’t eat, he barely moved from that goddamn bed for three fucking days. And I was here, watching _all of it_ , and there was nothing I could do! It broke my fucking heart.”

Destiny’s words sting like a whip cracking across Peter’s skin, as shame burns its way up his neck and into his cheeks. His body begins to squirm uncomfortably on the barstool as his brain screams at him to get out of this apartment, the last place he saw Roman.

That final moment suddenly runs through his memory: a bloody, sobbing Roman collapses in Destiny’s bathtub, and Peter runs out of the room. He hears Roman’s broken voice desperately call out his name, but he ignores it. He _ignores_ him, _dismisses_ him. And then he leaves; walks right out the door, leaving Roman alone and crying for him, and having no intention to return.

God, what has he done? Why did he come back here?

Tears unconsciously fill his eyes as they stare, unblinking, at Destiny. Some of the hardness in her expression softens as she lets out heavy sigh. 

“I get it…to some degree, okay? What happened to the baby and everything…that is some heavy, horrible shit and I’m so sorry you had to go through it; I really am. But, it’s not just about you or about Roman, it’s about both of you! You’re supposed to be working through it together and growing stronger, not doing _this_! He fucking _needed_ you, Peter!”

“I KNOW!” The scream erupts from Peter’s throat with such force, it sends a wave of vibration throughout his entire body. He jumps up from the barstool so fast, he knocks it to the ground with a crash. Destiny startles and shoots back against the stove, her eyes carefully following Peter as he begins pacing in front of the island like a caged animal.

“I know he needed me! He needed me, and I left him because I’m nothing but a low-life piece of vagabond shit, okay?! I’m a weak, spineless, fucking coward, is that what you want me to say?! I’ll fucking say it because it’s fucking true! I’ll scream it from every roof top in this goddam town if it’ll bring him back to me!

I know I fucked up, I fucked up SO bad, and this is all my fault, but I can’t do it anymore! I can’t be…without him anymore. Every day since I left, it feels like my fucking guts are being ripped out! And I probably deserve that. I know I deserve it…”

Peter comes to a stop, grabbing onto the counter top, as he’s finding it hard to breath. All of the anger and self-hatred he’s felt these past few months is just pouring out of him at once, and it’s almost too much to take. He looks up at Destiny, her expression stoic despite the unmistakable tear streaks running down her cheeks.

“I have no right coming back here and asking you for anything, Dee. I’m sure as hell not asking you to forgive me, but…I need to fix things with Roman. And I need your help,” Peter says quietly. “It absolutely _kills my fucking soul_ that I’ve done this to him.”

Destiny swiftly wipes a tear from her eye and sighs. “I just…don’t understand why you left in the first place. Can you explain that to me? Because, I’ve gone over it and over it in my mind since the day you left and…I can’t fucking figure it out.”

Peter leans against the island counter on his elbows and buries his face in his hands.

“I can’t either,” Peter groans. “I thought I knew why I did it, but now…I don’t know.”

Slowly sauntering her way over to him, Destiny picks up her pack of cigarettes off the island and takes one out. But instead of lighting it, she just rubs it between her fingers, her brow creased like she’s deep in thought.

“I keep going back to what you said, about how you ‘did this to him’ and how it was all your fault, and…Peter, you can’t tell me you actually believe you’re _really_ to blame for the miscarriage,” Destiny says. “It’s no more your fault than it is Roman’s, I told you that.”

“I didn’t mean it like that,” Peter scoffs. “I just thought it was karmic justice throwing the book at us.”

“What do you mean?”

“Like I said before… You told me from the fucking get-go to keep my nose clean and out of the Godfrey’s business, especially if it concerned Roman. And I didn’t listen. You told me to pay attention to the dreams I was having, and I didn’t listen. Then, once Roman and I figured out we were _sharing_ these dreams…he had his hooks in me, and I was a goner from there.

You know how long we’d been messing around? Six months. Six whole months of sneaking and hiding behind your backs; you, Lynda, fucking Olivia, everyone. And the only reason we were hiding is because we were _both_ told to stay away from one another. But we couldn’t do it.

When Roman told me he was pregnant, I was…God, I was ecstatic. I mean, I never thought I would have that, ya know? I never imagined I’d ever fall in love with somebody and have a family of my own, I just…didn’t see myself as that kind of guy. So, when it seemed like it was happening, I realized how badly I actually did want it.

I wanted Roman and I wanted that baby and I wanted us to have that “Leave-it-to-Beaver” kind of family bullshit. Neither one of us had that growing up, and we wanted things to be different for our kid. We had this whole plan for ourselves and…we were so goddamn happy.

Then…Roman lost the baby. And there was nothing I could do. I’m watching him going through this horrible, tragic fucking thing and I can’t take away his pain or make it stop. All I could think was… ‘You were warned’. I thought, if this is the price Roman’s having to pay just to be with me, it’s too fucking high. So…I left.”

Reaching across the island, Destiny gently places her hand on Peter’s arm.

“Oh, Peter…” she sighs, misty eyed.

Peter shakes his head. “I don’t know, I just…freaked out. I convinced myself this was fate or something punishing us for being together. Like this was just the beginning of a long list of plagues against us. And I figured the only way to protect Roman was for him to be away from me.”

With a sigh, Destiny runs a hand through her wild nest of hair. “You know, I _am_ a big believer in karma, but that is not what this was.”

“It doesn’t make any sense, I know,” Peter mutters. “It’s ironic. I was so worried about our loss tearing us apart…but I did it, instead.”

He focuses his gaze straight ahead of him, his eyes completely transfixed on everything and nothing in particular as the familiar sting of tears makes his face ache. He gives his nose a hard rub to will the sensation away, but it doesn’t work. He’s so tired of the tears, of the hurt; it has to end.

“I have to make this right, Dee. I’m done running, I need to face this. So, please...if you have any idea where Roman is, tell me. I have to talk to him, I have to…get him back. I _need_ to.”

When Peter’s eyes swivel to meet hers, something deep in Destiny’s core is shaken just by the look of them; a beautiful blue, shining bright with sincerity, with desperation, with heartbreak. 

So badly she wants to still be angry with him, but how can she rightfully be? Given the situation he and Roman were thrown into, she can’t say for certain how she would react under the same circumstances. Granted, she knew she wouldn’t fucking _leave town_ , but she digressed.

But what about Roman? How could she, in good conscience, send Peter marching up to his doorstep, knowing the extent of the damage his leaving had caused? When it came to living alone, Roman had just begun to gain his footing, and she was proud of the strength he was showing despite the struggle she could see and hear on the inside.

She had tried numerous times over the summer to get Roman to talk about Peter and the baby. But every time she would bring either of them up, Roman would shut down, retreating so far within himself, she couldn’t read him at all. Even his thoughts were nearly impossible to decipher. So, after a while, she stopped making the effort, fearing that if she tried just once more, she would lose him completely.

Peter insisted on talking to him, on making amends, and the idea of it made Destiny’s stomach turn. Roman had not properly grieved any part of this situation, and she could only imagine the kind of emotional havoc Peter’s sudden presence would wreak.

And on the same note, Peter needs to feel the impact of this storm he’s created. He can’t possibly expect a welcome any warmer than hers. She didn’t know what to do. Should she warn Roman? Should she warn Peter? Should she say nothing and let the chips fall where they may?

The question wasn’t with whom did her loyalty lie; it was a matter of whether she had any loyalty at all.

Shoving the cigarette she had been fiddling with between her teeth, Destiny flicks her lighter and sets the stick ablaze. She takes a hefty drag before pinching it between her fingers and handing it over to Peter. Peter sees the cigarette and shoots her a look of surprise, a tiny smile tugging at his lips.

“C’mon,” Destiny says, motioning her head toward the living room. “We have a few things to talk about.”

~*~*~*~  

Despite the initial awkwardness, Peter and Destiny spent most of the night talking, eventually falling into their normal routine of gossiping and bullshitting. After not hearing a word from each other in two months, there was much to catch up on.

Destiny had decided it best not to let Peter walk blindly into a minefield, giving him a subtle warning of Roman’s current demeanor.

“He’s sad. He’s so fucking sad. Or he’s angry; usually the former. He never talks about why he’s sad or angry, but it doesn’t take a genius to figure that out,” Destiny said. “It’s like there’s this dark cloud hanging over him that he can’t get away from. He’s just a lost little boy.”

Peter knew she stopped just short of saying “…because of you”, which was appreciated, but certainly warranted.

“I have no idea what he would do if he saw you. It wouldn’t be good, that’s for damn sure,” Destiny sighed. “So, you have to understand why I’m a bit nervous here.”

And Peter did understand, but his mind was made up.

So now, the next morning, Peter drove through an unfamiliar area just outside Kilderry Park, continuously glancing down at the directions Destiny wrote down for him. He was pretty sure he had no idea where this place was, so he drove at a cautiously slow pace. He didn’t want to waste precious time getting lost.

That was the main reason, anyway. Another part of him was afraid. A slap to the face and a tongue lashing from Destiny was one thing, but Peter knew Roman was capable of so much worse. Peter would willingly endure any punishment Roman had to offer, especially if it would eventually lead to forgiveness.

But the fear in his gut that was growing little by little the further he drove along ran much deeper than being subjected to a physical form of penance; Roman had the power to break what was left of Peter’s heart.  

Turning a final corner, Peter begins down a long drive way, seemingly enclosed in a tunnel made of billowing oak trees. Up ahead, he sees the outline of a building, which had to be Roman’s house, and he suddenly found it hard to breath.

Underneath the overwhelming fear of losing Roman for good, Peter had still managed to hang onto a glimmer of hope. But knowing he was just seconds away from the moment of truth, that hope was beginning to waver.

He makes it up the front of the house and hastily puts the station wagon in park. He gets out and takes a long, hard look at his surroundings. The house itself could not be less welcoming, as it looked like a bunch of boxes made of stone and glass and wood thrown together. He supposed it was decent enough, though not exactly what one considered a “home”.

A big white wall stood in front of the house like a giant pillar, adorned with a “44” and the word “HOME” in neon-sign style lettering. Walking around it, Peter found the front steps and climbed them with shaking knees. The nervous fluttering in his stomach begins to feel more like sickness when he comes to stand right at the front door, a giant slab of wood and frosted glass.

Next to the door is a buzzer, kind of like the one on the front of Destiny’s apartment building. He presses the button and is met with the loud chime of a bell. He waits in the heat of the morning sun, his body buzzing with an anxiety so great, he can barely keep himself still.

Suddenly, he sees a figure appear behind the pane of white glass and his heart nearly bursts through his chest. Slowly, the door opens and Peter watches with bated breath as Roman’s face comes into view, his beautiful green eyes meeting Peter’s in an instant.

Almost immediately, Roman’s initially shocked expression contorts into one of absolute resentment, and something inside Peter crumbles. Neither one of them says anything or looks away, the horrid silence dragging on for what feels like an eternity.

Peter clears his throat, searching for the words he’d rehearsed over and over in his head since last night, and not finding a single one of them.

“Hi,” he says sheepishly.

Roman’s eyes narrow at him, his body seeming to retreat further behind the door.

“I’m sure you probably don’t want to see me—"

“Fuck you,” Roman snaps back.

“Just hear me out—”

“Not interested.”

“Please—”

“We’re done.”

What Destiny described certainly didn’t do Roman justice. Peter had never seen such a darkness in him before. His eyes were practically black with anger, and Peter could feel himself being weighed down and sinking in their rage. He didn’t know what to say to him next, but the fact that Roman hadn’t immediately slammed the door in his face gave him the initiative to press on.

“Roman, I know you’re angry—”

“You have no fucking idea how I feel.”

“It’s my fault. It is absolutely, one-hundred percent my fault, and you have every right to hate me. I fucked up…monumentally. There’s no excuse for doing what I did to you,” Peter laments. “But please…I’m _begging you_ , Roman…please just give me a chance to explain. I know I don’t deserve it, but…please.”

For a fraction of a second, Peter sees something in Roman’s face soften. Without a word, he turns and walks into the house, leaving the door open just enough for Peter to walk through. Carefully, Peter walks into the foyer and pulls the door closed behind him.

His eyes briefly scan the area and he’s relieved to see that the inside of house isn’t nearly as intimidating and industrial looking as the outside. Why he was concerned about that in the first place, he doesn’t know.

Peter plants himself there by the door, not daring to go any further than the foyer under Roman’s watchful eye. Roman stops just short of the living room, a good fifteen feet or so away from Peter and stands rigidly with his arms crossed.

Peter’s mind goes suddenly blank, as he finds himself struck silent once again by the mere sight of Roman. He had so much he wanted to say, so much he needed Roman to hear, yet everything he had planned sounded like nothing but pathetic excuses.

But he can see Roman’s impatience growing and he knows he has to say something.

“I wish I could give you a good reason for doing what I did. I mean, I thought I had a good reason, but…the longer I was gone, the less I could rationalize it. Thinking back on it now, I… I can’t imagine why I did it.”

“I can,” Roman retorts. “You’re a coward.”

Though Roman’s words feel like a stab to the heart, Peter readily agrees. “I was a coward. I was a coward and an idiot and…the biggest piece of human garbage that has ever existed. And I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry for what I put you through. I never should’ve left you.”

Roman just sniffs, seemingly unmoved by Peter’s apology.

“Where did you go?” Roman asks sharply, keeping his eyes to the floor.

“Louisiana,” Peter quietly answers.

A flicker of pain runs across Roman’s features, as if Peter just reached out and slapped him.

“You had to put that much distance between us, huh?” he scoffs, fighting to keep his voice neutral.

“No,” Peter insists. “I just panicked, and I didn’t know where else to go. And then I realized I had no business going anywhere. I belong here, with you.”

Roman can feel every fiber in his body trembling. So many emotions course through him at once, it’s hard to settle his focus on just one of them. First and foremost, he is _pissed_. What kind of nerve did Peter have showing his face around here after deserting him two months ago? How could he possibly think that “sorry” was enough to make up for the fact that he left Roman alone at Destiny’s while he was losing…

No. No, he couldn’t think of her right now. He couldn’t go there.

God, he hated Peter so much. He had just started to feel somewhat “normal”, at least in the sense that the pain of his broken heart was becoming a bit more bearable every day. He’d adopted a new routine, which was to wake up, go to work, come home from work, go to bed, and try not to think of Peter the whole time. The last part of said routine hadn’t exactly been successful, but at least at work, he had a distraction, and he welcomed anything that would keep Peter off of his mind.

And now, here Peter was in front of him, back to pick the scab from the wound and restart the bleeding. He wants to “explain”? He wants to try to justify his betrayal? What right did he have?

And yet…

Roman’s heart is saying the opposite of his head. He knows he should be angry, and he is, but…how horribly he’s missed him. And more than anything, he wants Peter to take him in those strong arms of his and hold him close enough to feel his heart beating. He would do anything to feel Peter’s skin against his again.

But…that’s not meant to be, not anymore. Peter showed just how little Roman truly meant to him the day he walked away, and Roman can’t keep fooling himself. If Peter really loved him, he would’ve stayed; that’s what love was supposed to be.

“Are you finished?” Roman says gruffly, quickly glancing up at Peter.

“I don’t expect you to forgive me. I don’t know if I would either, if the tables were turned. I’m just… All I’m asking is that you give me the chance to make this right,” Peter says.

“You can’t make this right,” Roman whispers.

“Please, Roman. I can’t lose you, not like this. Losing Nadia broke my heart enough, but if I lost you, I—”

“What did you just say?”

Peter’s words die in his throat when he sees Roman’s head has snapped up to look at him, his eyes wide and shiny like glass. Peter swallows thickly, at a loss, until it hits him: He said her name. Roman doesn’t know that he knows her name.

Without even thinking, Peter reaches into the pocket of his shirt and pulls out the list of potential baby names Roman had written down. He walks over to Roman with the paper held gently between his fingers, and hands it over like a peace offering. Roman snatches it from him and hastily opens it, his eyes going misty as he looks over its contents.

“Where did you get this?” he asks quietly.

“I found it…right before I left,” Peter says.

Roman presses the paper to his chest with shaking hands, a stray tear falling from his eye.

“It’s a beautiful name, Roman,” Peter soothes.

Roman suddenly feels anger pouring over his features like a raging waterfall. He looks up at Peter with a seething sneer that cuts him to the bone, and Peter knows immediately that he’s pushed it too far.

“Get out,” Roman snarls just above a whisper.

Peter stands firmly in place, prepared to plead his case, to drop to his knees and beg forgiveness if he has to.

“Roman, please,” he says with a quivering voice.

“Get out of my house,” Roman says.

The two stare each other down, so much heartache filling the space between them and neither one moving to close the gap. Peter takes a step toward Roman, only for Roman to take a step back and hit him with a dangerous glare.

“GO!” Roman cries, crumpling the list of names in his hand and throwing it at Peter.

The list flutters down to the ground, landing right at Peter’s feet. Peter carefully picks it up and tries to refold it, throwing one last desperate glance at Roman, who has already turned his back to him.

A tearful breath escapes Peter’s throat as he turns on his heel and sees himself out of the house, slowly closing the glass door behind him.

As soon as he hears it click shut, Roman rushes over to the door and listens to the station wagon fire up and pull out of the drive. Once he’s sure Peter is gone, he turns and throws his back against the glass. He slides down to the floor, the unhinged sobs finally heaving out of him in body wracking waves.

 


	17. Chapter 17

Peter tears the shot-glass from his mouth, grimacing at the bitterness of the whisky coating his tongue, and slams it onto the island counter. The glass hits with a loud clank, and Destiny startles, whipping around from her place at the sink.

“Hey, now!” she shrieks, walking over to the counter and picking up the glass. “That is a one-of-a-kind souvenir from the Hobo Museum in Iowa. You remember; I hitched there one summer when I still lived in Nebraska.”  

“Oh, I’m sorry. Did a hobo blow the glass himself?” Peter rolls his eyes.

“You know what? A hobo just might’ve. And we are going to respect his hard work,” she says, pouring another shot and carefully sitting the glass in front of Peter.

Peter picks it up and swiftly dumps the liquid down his throat.

“Why the hell’d you wanna go to Iowa anyway?” he asks.

“I don’t know,” Destiny shrugged. “I was 17 and willing to do just about anything to piss off my parents. Plus, I had this itch to explore a random place in the middle of nowhere. It made me feel like I was discovering something.”

“So, you discovered a museum for hobos?”

“Among other things,” Destiny smirked. “But you know something? I tried their potatoes, multiple times, and I didn’t see what the big deal was.”

Peter is about to pour himself another shot, when her comment makes him pause, the bottle floating in mid-air. Destiny glances at him and catches the bewildered look he’s giving her.

“What?”

“That’s Idaho, Destiny. As in IDAHO potatoes,” Peter says flatly.

“Really?” Destiny’s expression goes blank. “Huh… Well, I was kinda right.”

“You weren’t.”

“It started with an ‘I’! There’s only, like, four states that start with ‘I’, I was really close.”

“Whatever gets you through the day, man.”

Peter then tips the bottle and fills the shot glass to the rim, and Destiny watches closely as he knocks it back.

“You know,” she sighs. “I like afternoon binge drinking as much as the next guy, but…you should probably slow it down.”

Giving her a pointed look, he reaches for the bottle again, but Destiny quickly snatches it away before he can even touch it.

“And why is that?” he grumbles.

“Because I’m the one who’s going to have to babysit your drunk ass! And if you throw up? You’re on your own, pal.”

“’Member my 15th birthday?” Peter smirks with a chuckle.

“I wish I didn’t,” Destiny mutters.

Peter runs his finger along the rim of the shot glass, making a conscious effort not to look at her. His movements are sloshy, and his words are beginning to slur, and Destiny knows things are about to take a nose dive.

Based on her prior experience of dealing with a sad, intoxicated Peter, she knows he often hits it too hard too early on, and the evening usually ends with him passed out after only a couple of hours.

And sometimes, like on his 15th birthday, he vomits repeatedly after mixing too many kinds of alcohol and Destiny has to deal with the mess. It’s rare, but she’s cleaned up after him enough to know that she’d rather never do it again.

“You wanna talk about it?” she asks.

“No,” Peter pouts. “I wanna sit here and drown my sorrows like a real fucking man does.”

Destiny heaves a sigh and plops down on the barstool next to him, cradling the bottle in her lap. Peter lunges for it, but she grabs the bottle by the neck and stretches her arm out at her side, away from him. Peter slouches on the stool in defeat, and Destiny grabs the shot glass and pours a drink for herself. She tips it back and swallows in one quick motion.

Coughing the burn of alcohol away, Destiny gently combs her fingers through Peter’s bangs.

“What were you expecting to happen, Peter?” she asks softly.

“I got what I was expecting. I just hoped….” Peter mutters, the pain evident in his voice.

“Yeah…” Destiny sighs.

Peter rubs a hand roughly through his hair and down his face, which Destiny knew was a tell that he was anxious or upset.

“I mean, for a second, I thought maybe we were getting somewhere,” Peter says. “And then I…mentioned Nadia and it all went to shit.”

Destiny gave him a perplexed look. “Who?”

Peter reaches into his shirt pocket and pulls out the now crinkled list of baby names. He hands it to Destiny, who curiously opens it and scans it over.

Letting out a tiny gasp, she says, “These were names for the—”

“Yeah,” Peter says gruffly.

“Oh…” Destiny sighs sadly, her hand coming to rest over her heart. “Nadia Emmeline Rumancek? That’s beautiful.” She rests a comforting hand on Peter’s shoulder. “You’d already given her a name…God, that sucks.”

“Roman did, I guess. I found that before I took off and kept it with me the whole time…like a really fucking depressing keepsake,” Peter explains. “I said her name, and Roman lost it.”

Destiny shakes her head. “He hasn’t grieved her, not entirely anyway. And he hasn’t grieved you at all. I knew it was too soon, I should’ve stopped you.”

“No,” Peter protests. “I needed to see the shit-show I’ve created. And he needed to see me, to know that I’m here to stay. I’m not going anywhere. I’ll go back tonight, once he’s cooled off, and try to talk to him again.”

Destiny lets the list fall from her hand. “I don’t think that’s a good idea, Peter,” she said, taking a drink straight from the bottle. “I mean, I know I sound like a broken record here, but he needs more time.”

“We’ve wasted enough time,” Peter snaps. “Or…I have. And I’m not about to spend another second apart.”

Peter takes the bottle out of Destiny’s hand and takes a healthy swig while eyeing her dangerously.

“Don’t try to talk me out of it. It won’t work.”

Destiny narrows her eyes at him and pulls a cigarette out of her pack on the counter.

“You’re so goddamn stubborn,” she quips, flicking her lighter.

“Well, we _are_ related,” he teases, jabbing her with his elbow.

Peter swings his legs out and hops up off the stool, only to immediately lose his footing and nearly stumbles to the floor.

Destiny stifles a laugh and puffs on her cigarette, watching Peter with barely veiled amusement. Peter throws his arms out like giant wings at his sides to gain his balance. Once he’s steady on his feet, he shoots Destiny a cartoonish, victorious grin.

“And he sticks the landing. Beautiful!” Peter mocks in hushed voice.

“Well, I’ll be goddamned if you’re going over there like that,” Destiny scoffs.

Peter’s head lulls toward Destiny’s bedroom. “I’ll sleep it off.”

“Feel free to do so on the couch!” she smiles.

Peter’s face scrunches into a pout before he randomly says, “I gotta take a piss”, and lumbers his way to the bathroom, his body swaying back and forth with every step.

Once he’s gone, Destiny sits in the silence, chewing nervously on the end of her cigarette. Though she doesn’t pray as often as she should, she finds herself doing it now, pleading that Peter does indeed sleep it off. And when he wakes up, he’ll decide to walk away and just leave Roman be.

~*~*~*~

Peter stands once again at Roman’s door, the brilliant oranges and pinks of the sunset reflecting off the frosty glass. He rang the bell, but still hasn’t gotten an answer. Roman probably has surveillance of some kind and is purposely keeping him out. Not that he would blame him.

But even if Roman doesn’t open the door, Peter won’t be deterred. He’ll stand out here all night and all day tomorrow if that’s what it takes. And, if need be, he’ll wait another night and another day. He’d willingly spend the rest of his life out here, sleeping, eating, existing solely on Roman’s doorstep like a dog. Roman would have to leave the house at some point.

About that time, Peter gets a thought; it’s a sneaky little voice in the back of his brain, telling him to check if the door is locked. He wasn’t above breaking and entering, at least when the situation called for it. And in this case, he absolutely thought it did.

He takes a quick glance around, as if Roman has any neighbors even close enough to this property that could catch him in the act. He carefully jiggles the handle of the door and can’t believe when it pushes open ever so slightly.

Peter pokes his head inside, the cool air conditioning hitting him in the face. His eyes scan his surroundings and is struck by how bare the space is despite all the clutter. Roman must really be living here by himself. From the look of things, it would appear that no one is picking up or organizing anything.

Even at Godfrey house, there was always at least one maid or groundskeeper fluttering around. The house is by no means “dirty”, but it certainly isn’t as pristine as the conditions Roman was accustomed to.  

How awful it must be to live without another soul near you. But, remembering Destiny’s words, he thinks maybe Roman now prefers living this way; no one can hurt you if no one is around.

And the idea that _he_ is the reason for that makes his heart clench.

Peter pushes himself all the way through the door and is quietly pulling it closed when…

“You must have some pretty gigantic fucking balls to step foot back in here.”

Peter startles at Roman’s voice and whips around to see him standing malevolently at the top of the stairs. Slowly, he makes his way down, his eyes meeting Peter’s in a vicious glare. Peter can feel his heart trembling in his chest as Roman draws closer, but he holds firm.

“Breaking into houses now? I bet the cops will have a goddamn hay-day with your gypsy ass,” Roman spits, coming to stand in front of him.

“You won’t call the cops,” Peter says, calling Roman’s bluff though he’s not quite sure it’s a bluff.

“Fucking try me,” Roman hisses. “I told you I didn’t want you here, and I meant it. Now, get out.”

Peter shakes his head. “I’m not going anywhere. Not until you give me a chance to explain.”

“I already said I wasn’t interested in anything you have to say. So, if you don’t mind, get the fuck off my property.”

Taking a step around Roman, Peter waltzes into the living room and Roman follows, hot on his heels.

“Peter, I’m warning you,” Roman growls.

“Nice place you got here,” Peter says casually. “I bet Destiny was able to haggle the price down quite a bit for you.”

At the mention of Destiny’s name, the anger in Roman’s face seems to dissipate into a look of unmistakable hurt. Then, he quickly tries to recover by furrowing his brow and crossing his arms.

“You talked to Destiny?” Roman asks, struggling to keep his voice neutral.

“Who do you think gave me the address?” Peter shrugs.

Roman purses his lips and turns away from Peter, beginning to pace the ground in obvious agitation.

“Awesome!” Roman sneers sarcastically. “Now _two_ Rumanceks have stabbed me in the back.”

“Destiny didn’t do anything to you,” Peter argues. “I’d have thought you’d be grateful for all she’s done.”

Roman’s face pinches into a nasty scowl as his eyes narrow at Peter.

“You know, you’re right. I should be grateful for all she’s done. I mean...she could’ve skipped town or something and left me to fend for myself. That would have been pretty fucking shitty of her, right?”

Peter breathes in sharply and looks down at the ground. “I deserve that,” he clears his throat.

“You do,” Roman retorts. “Now, for the last time…get the hell out of my house.”

Roman’s venomous stare does little to move Peter, who stands tall against Roman’s towering stature.

“I told you, I’m not going anywhere,” Peter says simply.

“Then you’re trespassing,” Roman snaps.

“Fine. I’m trespassing.”

The rage ignites in Roman so quickly, he’s barely able to contain it.

“What the fuck do you want, Peter? Haven’t you done enough?”

Peter approaches Roman slowly, desperate to make a connection, but careful to not get too close. Roman was timid, but unpredictable, especially when taken by surprise.

“I just want to talk,” Peter says carefully.

“We have nothing to talk about,” Roman scoffs.

“Don’t… Don’t say that. Roman, please. We can fix this, _I_ can fix this. Just…give me a chance to try.”

Roman’s mouth twists into a deep frown, his eyes suddenly going shiny.

“Really? You can ‘fix’ this?” Roman sniffs tearfully. “Can you bring her back?”

Peter’s heart sinks into his toes as he sees a tremendous sadness fall over Roman’s features like a dark curtain. Peter looks down at the ground, shaking his head.

“No,” he replies.

“No, you can’t,” Roman’s voice breaks. “Which means there’s nothing left to fix. We’re done here,” Roman’s body edges toward the foyer. He points a hard finger at Peter. “I’m going upstairs now. And if you’re not gone by the time I reach the top step, the police will have no problem dragging your ass out.”

With that, Roman turns sharply and begins to walk over to the staircase. Peter strides after him, reaching out and grabbing a hold of his arm.

“Roman—”

“Don’t touch me!” Roman spits, ripping his arm out of Peter’s grasp.

“When we met, you told me we were in this together. You remember that? _You_ and _me_ , together. That’s what I’m trying to fix! I would give _anything_ to have you and me back! Just let me fix us!” Peter cries desperately.

“I said we’re done! Get the fuck out of my house!” Roman shouts.

“I’m not leaving until you talk to me!” Peter yells.

“I don’t want to talk to you! I don’t even want to look at you! I just want you OUT! NOW, GO!”

“Roman, please! Goddammit, I can’t take this anymore! Just let me--”

“GET OUT!!”

“NO!!”

Suddenly, Roman grabs an expensive looking turquoise vase that’s sitting on the end table by the sofa, turns toward the foyer and hurls it forcefully at the ground. The vase obliterates on contact, hitting the wood floor with a thunderous crash. Peter’s heart jumps in his chest, but his body is frozen in place.

He should’ve left when he had the chance. Roman had warned him; he was given an out several times. But once again, he refused to listen. And now, it was too late; Roman was in unbridled wrath mode, and Peter had a front-row seat.

He deserved it, though. He deserved it, and he was ready for it.

But when Roman turns to face him, Peter sees that every trace of anger has left him, and in its place, absolute devastation.

With tears pouring down his face, Roman’s eyes flit up to Peter’s, the sorrow in them enough to make Peter’s stomach turn.

“Why?” Roman sobs quietly. “Why did you leave?”

Peter is struck silent, his blood running cold as he stands there, completely shocked at this turn. Roman seems to shrink before him, resembling a small, inconsolable child, and it makes Peter’s heart ache.

“What did I do?” Roman asks in a broken whisper.

Peter comes to stand in front him, wanting so badly to wrap Roman in his arms and take away his pain.

“Nothing! Oh, God… Baby, you didn’t do anything! It was me, it was all me. I’m a fucking idiot, I’m so sorry,” Peter cries.

He takes Roman’s soaked face in his hands, and though Roman does his best to push him off, Peter doesn’t budge.

“Roman, look at me,” Peter pleads. Roman’s eyes meet his, but only briefly. “This wasn’t your fault. Alright? Nadia was not your fault, me leaving wasn’t your fault. Tell me you understand that.”

But Roman just shakes his head. “I needed you.”

“I know,” Peter’s voice breaks.

“I needed you, and you left me. I was completely fucking lost,” Roman whimpers. “I _am_ completely fucking lost.” Then, his sobs start up again and he crumbles in Peter’s hands. “I’m so lost, Peter! I don’t know what to do!”

“God…I’m so sorry I’ve done this to you,” Peter says, quickly kissing Roman’s forehead. “I’m so, so fucking sorry.” Then, he kisses both of Roman’s sopping wet cheeks, and to his surprise, Roman doesn’t fight him off.

“I’m sorry, Roman…” Peter whispers. He feels his lips gravitating toward Roman’s, and when they gently graze, Roman starts resisting.

“No,” Roman softly grunts, trying to pull away from Peter’s embrace. “Peter, no.”

“Roman, please,” Peter begs. “I can’t keep doing this. I can’t be without you anymore.”

Roman’s eyes dance all over Peter’s face, a familiar feeling of desire beginning to burn in the pit of his stomach. He sees the hunger in Peter’s gaze, and he wants so badly to give in. He’s been without his sun and his stars for so long; he can’t bear this immense darkness any longer.

“I miss you,” Roman breathes, biting down on Peter’s bottom lip before enveloping them completely with his own.

Peter takes Roman in his arms, a white-hot heat of relief running through him. Peter’s hands explore the entire of canvas of Roman’s body, shaking with anticipation. Roman’s hands wrap around Peter’s waist, his fingers slipping beneath Peter’s shirt and skating them over his cool skin. Peter leads them over to the massive kitchen table, maneuvering Roman’s body to lay on top of the polished wood.

He bends down, kissing up and down Roman’s neck, making Roman moan with pleasure. Peter’s hands are just working their way under Roman’s shirt, when Roman’s body tenses and he abruptly sits up.

“Wait a minute,” Roman pants.

“What? What’s wrong?” Peter asks.

“Let’s go upstairs,” Roman replies.

Peter presses a quick kiss to Roman’s lips before letting Roman grab his hand and lead him up the stairs to the upper floor.

They burst through the door of Roman’s bedroom, Peter giving in to Roman immediately by letting him violently shove him onto the plush, yet unmade bed. While he’s down, Roman straddles him, clasping his collar in both hands and ripping his shirt open so quickly, a few buttons can be heard bouncing off the floor. Peter slips the shirt off with ease and throws it across the room.

Roman presses a hard kiss to Peter’s lips while Peter’s fingers clumsily fumble with the buckle of Roman’s belt. When he undoes the clasp, he swiftly pulls the belt out of the loops and yanks the waistband of Roman’s pants down past his ass.

Roman then stands up and wiggles his legs out of his pants, while Peter reaches up and grabs the hem of Roman’s shirt, tearing it up and over his head. Roman tosses his shirt to the side and climbs on top of Peter again, only for Peter to grab him and flip him over onto his back. Peter kicks off his jeans and looms over Roman, peppering his neck and his chest with kisses.

Roman lets out a pleased groan as he runs his hands through Peter’s hair, clutching the strands between his fingers and pulling tightly. Peter’s tongue slides down Roman’s pecks and around his navel, slowly venturing down lower. His taste buds skate the inside of Roman’s thighs and over the head of his penis, making Roman’s body shiver in response against him.

Peter moves his way back up, his tongue coming to rest in Roman’s mouth. The kiss becomes wet, sloppy, careless. Peter stares down into Roman’s eyes and recognizes the look of longing in them. Roman throws his legs up, spreading them wide open, while Peter readily positions himself and thrusts his solid erection forward, entering Roman swiftly. Roman lets out a moan of satisfaction, which helps Peter establish a rhythm.

“Yes…” Roman says under his breath, which only makes Peter go harder, faster, grunting with every thrust. Roman pants heavily in response, and Peter watches, mesmerized, as Roman’s skin flushes pink and grows sticky with sweat beneath him.

With a sharp gasp and a guttural moan, Peter climaxes within minutes. Through the waves of pleasure, he grips Roman in his hand and rigorously works until Roman cries out in ecstasy, the intensity of the orgasm bringing tears to his eyes.  

Peter eventually comes to fall next to Roman on the bed, their tired, slippery bodies intertwining with the bedsheets.

Peter presses his forehead to Roman’s and whispers, “I love you.”

“I love _you_ ,” Roman pants as he leans in, softly biting Peter’s bottom lip and devouring his mouth in a demanding kiss.

They make love four times over the course of the evening, each round more passionate and primal than the last. When they finally exhaust themselves, their bodies wrap around each other, and eventually, they drift off into the most peaceful night of sleep either of them has had in weeks.


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for the wait!! I hate summer; I'm always so freaking busy!!

“Peter?”

Peter stirs at the sudden voice, his eyes squinting at the unfamiliar surroundings. He stretches and turns over in the bed, coming face to face with a perturbed Roman.

“Is it really you?” Roman whispers, his eyes wide with disbelief. 

Peter gently takes Roman’s face into his hands, soothing Roman’s expression instantly. He leans in and plants a tender kiss on Roman’s lips.

“It’s me,” Peter smiles.

Roman’s cheeks turn pink and he quickly casts his eyes downward, trying to hide the tears that immediately fill them.

“What is it?” Peter worriedly asks.

“It’s just…” Roman sniffs. “I thought maybe I’d dreamed you again.”

Peter wraps Roman in his arms and rolls onto his back. Roman’s head rests on Peter’s chest and he takes in a few deep breaths. Peter runs his hands through Roman’s hair, his stomach fluttering as he breathes in Roman’s scent.

It felt surreal to be holding Roman again. After their encounter yesterday morning, he feared their chances of reuniting were slim. He tried to remain hopeful, but the reality was bleak. His heart ached just thinking that he may have to live the rest of his life without Roman, and he was entirely to blame.

But then, like it had from the very moment they met, fate worked her magic and brought them together. How Peter wished he could personally thank every star in the sky and every god or goddess in Heaven for giving him the privilege of having Roman’s heart returned to him. It was certainly more than he ever deserved.

And Roman was right. This moment did indeed feel like a crazy, wonderful dream. But it wasn’t a dream; it was real, and it was more beautiful than Peter could’ve possibly imagined.

“No. I’m no dream… I’m here.”

Roman traces a finger gently along Peter’s bare chest, trying to swallow past the sudden tightening in his throat. So severely, he wants to revel in this renowned happiness Peter has brought him.

But how could he possibly immerse himself in the bliss of having Peter back when he’s spent the last two months doing _everything_ to keep Peter off his mind? Was he really going to give up the fight so easily?

More importantly, if Peter truly wanted to mend things between them, how could Roman ever really trust him again? Why _should_ he?

The questions raced through Roman’s brain, and he was able to find the answer to them all in an instant: Because it was _Peter_. And he would trust him, not because he was weak or naïve, but because he was in love.

Only, that trust was still quite brittle at the moment.

“For how long?” Roman chokes out, the emotion trembling in his voice.

Peter folds his arms tightly around Roman’s back as he plants a kiss into his hair.

“For forever,” he replies.

With Roman still in his arms, he then rolls them both over onto their sides, so he can force Roman to look into his eyes.

“I know you’ve heard that before,” he says quietly. “I mean, I made you all these pretty promises…told you we were gonna have this great life together, and raise the baby--”

“We don’t have to do this right now…” Roman interjects, shaking his head.

“Yes, Roman, we do,” Peter sighs. “We should’ve been talking about it from the beginning.”

Roman’s body seems to shrink, like he’s willing himself to disappear. Peter’s finger swipes across Roman’s forehead, pushing his bangs away from his face. The gesture brings a tiny smile to Roman’s lips. Then, just as quickly, the smile evaporates, as he takes in the sudden seriousness in Peter’s expression.

“Please,” Peter whispers, rubbing a gentle hand down Roman’s back. “We have to talk about Nadia.”

Abruptly, Roman sits up in the bed and scoots over to the edge. He swings his legs off the side and begins to stand when Peter reaches across and grabs his arm.

“Roman,” Peter pleads. “We _need_ to talk about her, about all of it. We have to find some kind of closure, here. We can’t move forward pretending she never existed.”

Without looking at him, Roman clears his throat and pulls his arm out of Peter’s grasp. “I’m gonna go take a shower.”

“Roman…”

But before another word can be said, Roman briskly walks out of the bedroom, and Peter flops back down onto the bed, sighing up at the ceiling in defeat.

~*~*~*~

Peter quickly dresses and stalks out of the bedroom, leaving Roman to his shower. For a moment, he entertained the thought of following Roman to the bathroom, taking a more upfront, confrontational approach to the discussion. But, while that may have ended up working last night, he doubted it would be successful in this instance.

The miscarriage was a critically delicate issue; Destiny had already warned him of that. And Peter could pretty much guarantee that cornering Roman would get him nowhere, either. For the time being, it was best to let it lie. It was too early in the morning to get so heavy anyway.

Peter makes his way downstairs and pulls his phone out of the pocket of his jeans, checking it for the first time since last night. And, like he anticipated, he had a flood of missed calls and text messages from Destiny.

The texts began cordially, then grew increasingly distressed in tone with each unanswered message.

**_“How’s it going?? I’m guessing that Roman let you into the house. Though I wouldn’t put it past you to break in lol”_ **

Peter had to laugh at the first message. Destiny knew him so well, it was almost disgusting. He went on, opening message after message.

**_“So… Are you guys okay? Talking, hopefully? I haven’t heard from you, so I’m just going to assume it’s going well... Let me know.”_ **

**_“If you ever decide to come home tonight, there’s a key under the mat. I would wait up for you, but…I don’t want to.”_ **

**_“Did you spend the night?! I kinda hope so, because otherwise I’ll have to file a missing persons report, which would inconvenience me greatly, Peter.”_ **

**_“Okay, I’m worried now, seriously.”_ **

At the extreme likelihood of receiving an earful from her, Peter begins to dial Destiny’s number, when another text message pops up.

**_“Alright, none of your stuff is giving me any visions of your untimely death, so I suppose you’re alive. Of course, you could confirm that by FUCKING CALLING ME…”_ **

With a groan, Peter finishes dialing the number, and Destiny picks up on the first ring.

_“Well, I’ll be goddamned, he lives!”_

“I’m just calling to tell you to stop touching my stuff,” Peter quips.

_“Shut up… I’ve been worried sick. You know, it wouldn’t have killed you to shoot me a text and let me know you’re not fucking dead.”_

“Okay, okay… I’m sorry.”

_“Good. So… How did it go with Roman?”_

“Um…” Peter hesitates. “Good! It went well, actually. I mean, not at first. At first, he was pretty pissed and…he tried to kick me out several times, but anyway... We, uh, did talk. A little bit.”

_“Mm-hm, and? Are you guys okay?”_

“We’re…getting there, I think. I mean, we still have a lot of ground to cover, but…” Peter trails off as a strange, unexpected wave of emotion comes over him. He clears his throat, trying to keep his voice even. “He said he misses me, Dee.”

_“Yes, he does… The past few weeks have been so hard on him.”_

“Yeah, well… I know the feeling.”

_“Well, I’m glad it worked out, I really am. I’m not gonna lie, I had my doubts. Roman was so angry…but I don’t really think it was at you. Not entirely, anyway. He was mostly angry with himself for allowing his heart to be broken. You know how hard he tries to be strong all the time. And with this…he just couldn’t be.”_

“Don’t be too glad yet. I may have already fucked it up again,” Peter mutters.

_“What? Why?”_

“I tried to get him to talk about the baby, and he shut down immediately.”

_“Yeah… I would hold off on that one for a while. It’s a **very** touchy issue. And I know it’s been tough on you too, but you have to remember…he’s the one who carried that baby, and he’s the one who had to endure the physical hardship of losing it. It’s a different type of grief for him. I do think he will eventually talk about it, but…don’t push him. Let him come to you.”_

“Yeah… And, ya know, maybe he doesn’t fully trust _me_ enough to talk about it yet, either.”

_“Probably not. But, you’re talking and it sounds like you’re on the right track. He’ll get there, he just-- ”_

“Needs time, I know.”

_“See? You’re much smarter than you look!”_

“Gee, thanks,” Peter smirks. “Anyway… I just wanted to touch base. I have no idea what’s gonna happen today, but I’ll be home as soon as I can. We can talk more then.”

_“No hurry. Do what you gotta do. Tell Roman I said ‘hi’ and that I’ll call him later.”_

“Okay? You guys like best girlfriends now or something?”

_“Yes. Every Tuesday night, we give each other mani-pedi’s and talk shit about everyone we know over a bottle of schnapps. Get the fuck over it.”_

“And we’ll talk about _that_ later,” Peter chuckles at her sarcasm. “Alright, see ya.”

_“Buh-bye.”_

Peter slips his phone back into his pocket and nearly jumps out of his skin when he turns around to see a freshly showered and dressed Roman standing at the bottom of the stairs, watching him.

“Shit!” Peter breathes, grabbing his chest. “You scared me.”

“I’m ready to talk,” Roman says. “About us, I mean.”

Peter blinks a couple of times, his thoughts racing each other and bouncing around in his brain. Destiny said to let Roman come to him, but judging by his reaction earlier, Peter figured it would be weeks or even months before Roman felt comfortable opening up about anything. He certainly wasn’t expecting this, and he had no clue where to begin.

“Okay,” Peter stammers.

He walks over to the kitchen table and pulls out a chair, motioning for Roman to come over. Roman steps down from the stairs and saunters over to Peter, their eyes staying transfixed on one another.

Wearing a tight pair of black slacks and a sleek V-neck t-shirt, just the look of Roman sends a warm current of electricity through Peter’s groin. Goosebumps rise over his skin and he tightly grips onto the back of the chair, refraining.

 _Not now,_ Peter thinks. _We need to talk this time. Don’t give in._

But then, Roman sat down in the chair Peter offered. The luscious smell of soap and shampoo hits Peter’s nostrils and he can feel his mouth beginning to water. All he could think of doing was scooping Roman into his arms and bending him over the table right then and there.

Peter swallows a couple of times, willing his longing away, and takes a seat in the chair across from Roman. Running his fingers along the smooth surface of the tabletop, Roman’s brows cross in deep thought for a moment before his gaze shoots up to meet Peter’s.

“You know, I’ve went over this moment, day after day, for eight weeks. I’ve wracked my brain, trying to figure out what I would say to you, if I had the chance,” Roman says, his mouth twisting into a tiny smirk. “And, every day, I told myself… ‘You don’t have to worry about that. You’ll never see him again’.”

Almost immediately, Peter begins to squirm in the chair. He rubs the back of his neck, already feeling the discomfort that this talk is most likely going to bring. He _wants_ Roman to talk, but he’s not sure he’s truly prepared to hear the words.

“But now…here you are. And everything I wanted to tell you, everything that’s been simmering in my brain all this time, it’s just...out the fucking window,” Roman says. “The truth is, I have no idea what to say to you. Because I can be as angry and hurt and pissed off at you for leaving as I want to be…but I can’t sit here and pretend that I didn’t see it coming.”

Peter gives Roman a narrow, questioning look. “What do you mean?”

“That night at Destiny’s, when I started to…” Roman nearly chokes as the horrid memory flashes in his mind. He clears his throat. “You were leaving, to go get me some clean clothes, I think. And…I felt something shift between us, right then. Something irreversible. I remember, you kissed me, told me ‘goodbye’…I looked at you, I looked right into your eyes, but I couldn’t see you anymore. It’s like you were already gone.”

Something begins to boil in the pit of Peter’s stomach. He takes a couple of deep breaths, hoping the sudden queasiness will subside, but it’s in vain. Reaching across the table, his hand grazes Roman’s and he pretends not to notice the way Roman slightly flinches at the touch.

“So, deep down… I think I knew you would leave. I just hoped you wouldn’t,” Roman says quietly.

Then, to Peter’s surprise, Roman’s fingers wrap around his. They sit there in silence for a few minutes, their eyes shifting around in all directions, away from one another. Guilt settles heavily in Peter’s gut. Roman had put so much of his hope into him, and he balled it up and threw it away like yesterday’s garbage. 

He’s hit with a sickening, horrifying realization: maybe there truly wasn’t a way to make this right. Once trust is destroyed, there is nothing left to salvage.

 _Look what you’ve done_. _You’re going to lose him, forever_. Something inside was screaming it at him, taunting him, even. It was too much to stomach.

His reason for leaving hardly made any sense now, but he still said a silent prayer that Roman would understand anyway.

“I wanted to protect you,” Peter mumbles.

“Protect me from what?” Roman asks.

“From me,” Peter replies.

“Peter—”

“No, Roman, I… cursed us, okay? I fucked us.”

“What are you talking about?”

Peter roughly rubs a hand down his face and sighs. “I was never supposed to get close to you. You know that. Destiny warned me, Lynda warned me…I didn’t listen. Then, when I realized I had feelings for you, I was already in too deep. I couldn’t tear myself away if I wanted to.

I was really excited when you told me you were pregnant. Scared shitless? Yeah. But I was starting a family with the person I love, and I was happy. _Too_ happy, I guess. Next thing you know…baby’s gone, you’re a wreck…because of me. If I stayed away from you, this never would’ve happened.”

Pain quickly flashes over Roman’s features. “So… You regret it,” Roman states rather than asks.

“No,” Peter quickly shakes his head. “No, I don’t regret it. I don’t regret that baby and I sure as hell don’t regret you.”

Roman’s face softens, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. Peter squeezes his hand gently.

“But I do regret leaving. At the time, I thought it was the right thing to do, but...I was so fucking wrong. I convinced myself that losing the baby was some kind of omen against us. And I guess I thought the only way to keep something else from happening was for me to leave. It doesn’t make any sense, I know. But I don’t ever want you to think it was because of you. I left because I was a fucking idiot.”

“You left because it’s who you are, Peter. You’re a gypsy, a runner. I’ve known that from the beginning.”

Peter’s eyes widen. “That doesn’t make it okay, Roman.”

“But I knew what you were, and I fell in love with you anyway,” Roman shoots back, his expression sobering Peter fast. “I can use the same logic, here. I was told to stay away from _you,_ and I didn’t. And I’m a Godfrey; I fuck things up, that’s what I do.”  

“Don’t try to turn this on yourself, Roman,” Peter seethes. “I made the choice, whether it’s ‘who I am’ or not. I could’ve chosen to stay, and I didn’t. I took the coward’s way out. It’s all on me.”

“But it’s not,” Roman shoots back.

“Yes, it is!”

“I’m the one who lost our kid! Not you!” Roman cries. The breath is knocked from Peter’s lungs as his body limply falls back against the chair. Roman’s face pinches tightly, his cheeks burning red with the effort to keep himself composed. The tears run freely, though, soaking him down to the neck.

“We had a plan, Peter! We had a family…and I fucked it up before it even had the chance to start! All I had to do was have a baby, and I couldn’t do _that_!”

“Roman—"

“You think _you_ cursed us? Look what I fucking come from! With the kind of bitch I had for a mother, what do you think I would’ve done to our kid?! I would’ve ruined her, because I ruin _everything_ , Peter, and it’s always gonna fucking be that way! So, it’s better this way! Our daughter’s better off without me and so are you! When are you gonna fucking wise up and realize that?!”

Peter hops out of the chair and comes over to Roman, dropping to his knees in front of him. He takes both of Roman’s hands in his and presses them to his mouth, kissing them repeatedly. Roman tries to pull away, but Peter only tightens his grip, and Roman starts to quietly sob.

“Stop it. Stop it right fucking now,” Peter says, his voice trembling.

“I’m sorry…” Roman whimpers.

“Don’t. Don’t you dare apologize to me. It is NOT your fault, do you hear me? It’s nobody’s fault.”

“I miss her, Peter. I just...I wanted her so much!”

Roman’s body begins to shake with violent cries and Peter gathers him in his arms. Roman lets Peter pull him down to the floor, and he settles himself between Peter’s legs. Peter brings Roman’s head to rest on his shoulder, unbothered by the hot tears soaking into his shirt collar.

“Let go, Roman…” Peter whispers, kissing Roman’s hair. “You have to let her go. She can’t find peace if you don’t.”

Wrapping his arms tightly around Peter, Roman’s wails grow louder, and it makes Peter begin to cry himself. Nothing hurt him more than seeing Roman in pain, but he knows it’s what needs to happen. All this time, Roman has held in his grief, allowing it to fester and eat away at him instead of letting it all out and healing.

Peter knows he’s partly to blame for it as well, as he was supposed to be the one Roman grieved with. Oddly enough, it just makes him that much more grateful that he came back when he did.

For a solid hour, they sit entwined together on the dining room floor. Peter holds Roman close to him, gently rocking him in his arms as he finally breaks free from all the heartache that’s held him captive for so long.

~*~*~*~

The setting sun casts a gorgeous orange and pink glow on the glass of the front door as Peter slowly emerges from the kitchen. He keeps his eyes carefully fixed on the mugs in his hands, watching as the steaming hot tea swishes around with every step. Scalding the piss out of his hands would be the perfect end to this day. He supposed that wasn’t really fair to think. This hadn’t been a _bad_ day, per say…just an incredibly sad one.

He and Roman had spent the afternoon talking about Nadia. But instead of focusing on her death, they shared their aspirations of who they hoped she would be.

Peter wanted nothing more than to have a child who was healthy in not just body and mind, but also in spirit. He pictured a spry, gangly little girl with Roman’s eyes and his thick mop of hair. When she grew older, he would share the stories of her ancestors and pass down all their family traditions, making her one with her roots and proud of her heritage.

Roman, of course, wanted her to be financially successful, but not as a Godfrey. She would be totally self-made, rife with fierce independence and a strong, business-oriented mind that rivaled those of her male colleagues. She’d be tough in the boardroom, but kind and fair and honest where it really counted. Roman imagined, and prayed, she would be everything good and noble about Peter, and nothing like him.

Though they had radically different ideas on the kind of person their daughter might be, above all else, they wanted her to be happy. And they supposed that now, and for the rest of eternity, she really would be.

From his spot on the couch, Roman looks up at Peter and gives him a tiny smile.

“Need some help?” he asks, starting to stand.

“Absolutely not. I got this, sit down,” Peter orders, and Roman obliges.

Peter holds out one of mugs to Roman, who cautiously takes it from him and immediately blows the steam away from the rim.

“Thank you,” Roman says.

“You’re welcome,” Peter replies, setting down next to him. He rests his arm on the back of the couch, watching closely as Roman takes a tiny sip of his tea.

Out of the corner of his eye, Roman notices Peter staring at him. “What?” he asks.

“Nothing,” Peter sniffs, bringing his hand up to rub the back of Roman’s neck. “Just…wanna make sure you’re okay.”

Roman smiles, but it doesn’t meet his eyes. “I _am_ okay, Peter.”

“You know, it’s fine if you’re not. I don’t think there’s a time limit on this kind of thing. Granted, I sure as fuck didn’t make things any easier on you, but—”

Peter’s sentence is cut off by Roman’s chaste kiss. “You don’t have to beat yourself up anymore,” Roman says. “It’s okay.”

“It’s not okay, but I guess I’ll let you think it is,” Peter replies.

Roman chuckles slightly and presses his forehead against Peter’s.

“We are so fucked up,” he says.

“Tell me about it,” Peter smirks as he plants a kiss on Roman’s lips. He wraps his arm around Roman’s shoulder and pulls him close. Roman takes another sip of his tea and rests his head against Peter’s shoulder.

“So…what now?” Roman asks quietly.

Suddenly, an idea sparks to life in Peter’s brain. Immediately, he thinks it sounds completely crazy, but the feeling in his gut is telling him that it’s absolutely right. He’s fearful for merely a second, then that fear is quickly replaced with a rush of excitement, of hope. The words come out before he has a chance to think about them too much.

“Marry me.”

Roman’s head whips up from Peter’s shoulder and he looks at him with an incredulous expression.

“Peter, be serious.

“I am,” Peter replies, slipping off of the couch and coming to rest on one knee in front of him.

Roman feels his stomach drop into his toes and his mouth slack open as he stares at Peter with wide eyes.

“What are you doing?” he asks nervously.

Taking a deep breath, Peter reaches up and holds Roman’s hand in his.

“Roman Godfrey, from the moment I first laid eyes on you, my soul fell in love with yours. There is no one in this entire world who makes me as happy or drives me as crazy as you do. I can never truly put into words how much you mean to me.

I know…that I messed this up. Leaving you was the worst mistake I have ever made in my life. I’m so sorry that I hurt you, and I have no right to ask you this now. But if I’ve learned anything these past few weeks, it’s that I don’t ever want to spend another second of my existence without you.

So… Will you marry me?”

Roman can’t help the tears that flow from his eyes. Though he tries to stop it, he’s trembling from head to toe. In fact, he’s not even sure he’s breathing. Peter is looking at him with expectant eyes, yet Roman can’t seem to find his voice.

Unconsciously, he feels his head nod his answer for him, and he watches as a smile lights up Peter’s face.

“Yes,” he finally says. “Yes, I will marry you.”


	19. Chapter 19

EIGHT WEEKS LATER

_The moon hangs low in the sky, brightly lighting a clear path through the immense blackness of the woods. Under his feet, the brittle crunch of leaves and breaking twigs snaps in his ears as he trudges forward. He doesn’t know where he’s going, but he knows he must follow; the dark, hooded figure traipsing elegantly ahead of him made that perfectly clear._

_The figure turns to look behind them, their eyes meeting his for only a brief second. He only catches a glimpse of their face, but sees enough of it to know that it seems familiar. Familiar, and dangerous. But even if he wanted to resist, the allure of this mysterious creature was too great, and he continued to blindly follow._

_As he’s walking, he feels something sharp occasionally dig into the meat of his thigh, but his brain doesn’t acknowledge it. His brain, in fact, couldn’t acknowledge anything besides this trail he is being led on. It was as if his mind was no longer his._

_Around him, the trees seem to disperse, and he follows the figure into a small clearing. The figure then stops in the middle of the ground, right beneath the now gigantic moon. He halts too, and the figure turns, locking their eyes onto his with a smile as frigid as ice._

_“Good boy,” the figure says with a silky, menacing tone. “Now…”_

_Slowly, he follows the figure’s head as it lowers, guiding him down to the ground on his knees. Then, carefully, the figure raises their arm up above their shoulder and he immediately follows their action. As he lifts his arm, the moonlight catches in the blade of the knife clutched in his fist, and his eyes blink against the shine._

_Behind him, a frantic rustling signals that something draws near. A distressed voice rings throughout the woods, screaming his name._

_“ROMAN!!_

_His head turns toward the sound, partly breaking the grip of concentration the figure has over him. The voice calls out to him again, this time much closer and more desperate._

_“ROMAN, DON’T!!”_

_Suddenly, Destiny comes bursting through the clearing as a vicious, snarling growl echoes through the trees. A gigantic black wolf bolts past Destiny and screeches to a stop between him and the figure. The wolf’s fur stands wildly on end, fangs bared and mouth foaming, rigidly mounted for the attack._

_The figure keenly watches the wolf, and swiftly moves to stand directly in front of it, imitating the animal’s defensive pose. An agitated bark rumbles from the wolf’s throat as it steps aggressively toward the figure._

_A ghostly smile cracks across the figure’s face as their head snaps toward him. He instinctively plunges the knife into his side and without a moment’s hesitation, the wolf angrily lunges for the figure’s throat. His body weakly collapses in the cool dirt as Destiny’s horrified screams grow dim in his ears._

Roman startles from his sleep, his body and the sheet beneath him soaked with sweat. He looks about the dark bedroom in a panic, desperate to gather his surroundings as he struggles to catch his breath. _It’s okay_ , he thinks. _It’s not real._ _This is your home. You’re home_. He silently repeats the words to himself two or three more times, but it does little to calm him.

The sudden, unexplainable urge to cry tightens the inside of his throat and he clamps his jaw tightly shut, humiliated that he would even think to cry at something as stupid as a dream. He wanted to be a warrior, not the sniveling little boy he saw in the mirror every day.

Warriors weren’t affected by the frivolous or imaginary, and stood tall against danger in spite of the fear that may linger within them. They were virtuous, brave, strong…like Peter. Roman would give anything to be like Peter.

Beside him on the bed, Peter snores softly, completely oblivious to the disturbance next to him. The awful dream begins to dissipate from Roman’s mind as he watches Peter’s chest rise and fall with peaceful breaths.

Roman inches closer to Peter, and he begins to bury himself back under the covers when a sudden, sickening feeling broils in the pit of his stomach. He sits up in the bed and rubs a hand over his naval. The nausea sits heavily in his gut like a cinderblock and he gently applies pressure to what he hopes is just a trapped bubble of indigestion.

He tries to ride the discomfort like a rollercoaster, breathing in deeply when it grows more intense and breathing out when it seems to ebb. Suddenly, his mouth fills with saliva as bile rushes up into his throat so fast, he can hardly keep it contained.

Loudly gagging, he covers his mouth and jumps up from the bed. As he runs out of the room and into the hallway, he hears Peter waken with a grunt and groggily say his name, but he ignores it. When he makes it to the bathroom, he drops to his knees in front of the toilet and violently heaves, the force of it dampening his skin with a fresh layer of sweat.

The retching comes in waves, the next round beginning immediately after the last. He unloads everything in his stomach, pushing the vile contents out of him until he’s spitting up nothing but acid. When he feels it’s finally finished, he coughs the rest of it out of his mouth and wipes the water from his eyes.

He stands up, wobbling a bit on his feet, and walks over to the sink. Turning on the faucet, he cups water in his hand and slurps it up, rinsing the pungent taste out of his mouth.

Something appears in the vanity mirror, catching his eye. He glances up to see a disheveled Peter standing in the doorway, looking concerned despite still being half asleep.

“Did you just throw up?” Peter asks gruffly.

“Yeah,” Roman answers.

Peter comes to stand behind him at the sink, resting a hand on Roman’s hip.

“Are you sick?”

Roman sighs. “No, I… I just had a bad dream. I’m alright.”

Peter visibly stiffens beside him. “Do you wanna talk about it?”

“No,” Roman shakes his head. “It’s over, I’m fine. Go back to bed, I’ll be there in a minute.”

Letting out a yawn, Peter stretches and scratches up and down his sides.

“Eh, it’s after six... I gotta get up anyway. How about I just go make us some coffee?”

The thought of it makes Roman’s stomach turn, but he hides behind a tiny smile. “Sounds good.”

Peter gives him a curt nod before turning and walking out of the bathroom. Roman stays put in front of the sink and as his hand unconsciously comes to rest on his middle, he can’t help but notice how familiar the aching in his stomach feels.

~*~*~*~

An entire week goes by, and Roman is still throwing up. Every morning, he’s woken up to that same sick feeling and spent the rest of his day trying to ward it off, with menial success. He was starting to get good at hiding it from Peter, as he would tip toe his way to the bathroom at the first sign of nausea and turn on the shower to cover up the noise if Peter woke up.

When he was at work, he didn’t have to worry about hiding from Peter. At least there, he could get sick in the privacy of his locked office, which is exactly what he is doing now. With a final gag, he removes the vomit filled trash can from his lap and sits it on the floor on the other side of his desk. Grabbing a tissue, he wipes the corners of his mouth and sits back in his desk chair with a groan.

Tossing the dirty tissue into the trash can, Roman’s eye catches his engagement ring from Peter. Really, it’s Peter’s ring; a gold band adorned with a teardrop shaped onyx stone that belonged to his grandfather. Because Peter didn’t have a dime to his name, his proposal didn’t come with a ring, and he vowed to buy a proper one for Roman once his paychecks from the mechanic shop started rolling in.

But Roman wouldn’t hear of it. Having one of Peter’s personal rings meant so much more to him than a flashy, store-bought piece of jewelry. In return, Roman gave Peter the black and silver band his father always used to wear.

Looking down at Peter’s ring, a dreadful sense of guilt began to pool in his still nauseated stomach. It was a symbol of their future, of the amazing journey they were about to embark on together, and Roman didn’t want to begin it with dishonesty. He found it ironic, too. Peter had been beating himself up over the events of the summer since he returned, and now Roman was the one hiding like a coward.

He felt stupid for hiding his sickness in the first place, but it had nothing to do with pride. He just didn’t want Peter to worry. Or to ask any questions. Roman was concerned enough as it was and didn’t need Peter fretting on top of it.

For an entire week, Roman went over and over the possible scenarios in his mind. He supposed it could be due to the stress he was having over Shelley. He’s spent the last month or so visiting multiple attorneys to see if any of them could help him file a custody suit against Olivia. But he’d been turned away by all of them, as they knew taking on the case would basically be suicide. Olivia’s legal team would devour them alive.

Roman wanted her to be out from under Olivia’s thumb so badly, it hurt. And he couldn’t very well just waltz into the house and take her, especially now that Olivia had slapped a restraining order against him. He’s almost broken down and snuck onto the property so many times, but he couldn’t take the chance of getting caught. Olivia would have no problem throwing his ass in jail and then he really would be of no use to Shelley.

His heart was broken, and he refused to give up, but he was running out of solutions. Just thinking about it now made his stomach start to flip around. He pulled the trash can back over to him and leaned over it until the feeling passed.

He wanted to believe Shelley’s situation was the reason for this relentless stomach bug, but in his gut, he knew exactly what was wrong. He just hadn’t taken any measures to confirm it; he was almost afraid to.

But he couldn’t keep putting it off. He had to know for sure and give his mind some peace.

It was now nearing one o’clock in the afternoon, and Roman decided to take the rest of the day off. Hastily, he threw a few handfuls of tissues into the trashcan, hoping to absorb some of the waste, before gathering his briefcase and strolling out of his office.

He walked out the front doors of the White Tower without a word to anyone, though he could hear Dean the receptionist stammering to call after him. He was sure he’d catch lip from Dr. Pryce for disappearing, but the threat was minute. Would they really fire a Godfrey from the Godfrey Institute? He scoffed at the idea.

He half-jogged through the parking lot to his car, and once he was safely inside, he pulled his phone out of his pocket. Scrolling through his contacts, he quickly found Destiny’s number, but instead of hitting it, his thumb hovers over the phone screen.

For a second, he wonders if he should get her involved again, or if she’d even want to after the last time. He felt he relied on her too much as it was. She had went out of her way for him these past few months more times than Roman could count, doing things he would never even think to ask of her.

But something inside him nagged that he needed her, and he knew she was the only person he could trust with such a delicate matter.

With a loud exhale, Roman quickly taps her name before he can lose his nerve. And, like Destiny always does, she answers the call almost right away.

 _“Hey, you!”_ she says in her bubbly tone.

“Hey,” Roman responds gruffly.

_“What’s up? Aren’t you at work?”_

“Yeah, but uh… I’m taking the rest of the day off. I’m just now leaving.” He pauses. “Um…are you busy right now?”

 _“No, my next client doesn’t come ‘til 3:45.”_ Then, her voice turns, concerned. _“Why, what’s going on?”_

Suddenly, Roman feels an uncomfortable warmth spread through his cheeks. The queasiness begins rolling in his stomach again and he rubs a hand soothingly over it. He thinks of just blurting it all out, spilling all of his worries and fears to her over the phone and getting it over with. But just when he’s about to answer her, his throat closes up; he couldn’t say a word if he wanted to.

 _“Roman?”_ Destiny’s uneasy voice breaks through the silence. _“What’s wrong?”_

Roman clears the bile out of his throat and takes a deep breath.

“I—I don’t know. I mean… I just need to see you,” he stammers.

 _“Well, are you okay? Is Peter okay?”_ Destiny asks, her voice on the verge of panic.

“Yeah, yeah, Peter’s fine. And I’m fine…I think,” Roman says, his breathing shallow. “I need your help.”

There’s a few beats of silence before Destiny’s voice comes back over the phone.

_“Okay, honey. Of course, I’ll help you. You said you were leaving work now?”_

“Yeah.”

_“Alright, just come on over. I’ll be right here.”_

“Okay…”

_“And Roman? Just breathe. It’s gonna be fine.”_

“Okay.”

And with that, Roman ends the call and throws his phone into the driver’s seat. Without another second of hesitation, he fires up the engine of his Mercedes and turns all of his worried focus on the sound of his tires squealing harshly against the pavement as he tears out of the parking lot.

~*~*~*~

Destiny is waiting for him outside her door when he makes it to the top of the stairs. She gives him a friendly smile, though her eyes shine bright with concern. Roman sheepishly smiles back and strides through the apartment.

Following him inside, Destiny hastily shuts the door and whips around to face Roman.

“Well, you’ve effectively scared the hell out of me,” she quips, crossing her arms across her chest. “Now _what_ is going on?”

Roman stands awkwardly in front of her, fiddling with the hem of his sport jacket. He glances up at her briefly, shrinking inside himself a bit when he sees how anxious and impatient her expression is.

He takes a few deep breaths, needing a moment to form the words he never imagined he would say again.

“I think I’m pregnant,” his voice cracks.

Destiny’s face goes completely blank, her widened eyes blinking rapidly a few times at his words. Silence passes between them for a few seconds, and Roman wonders if she heard him. He’s about to repeat himself when Destiny brings a hand up to her mouth.

“Are you serious?” she whispers, an excited smile playing across her lips.

“It’s just like before,” Roman says quietly. “I’ve been sluggish and nauseated… And about a week ago, I started throwing up in the mornings…and even at work. I mean, it’s…it’s exactly like last time.” He feels a pang of sadness rip through his chest, remembering his brief pregnancy with Nadia.

Destiny pulls the carton out of her back pocket and taps the bottom of it until a cigarette pops out. She gives Roman a sly smirk as she places the cigarette between her lips.

“Well, that didn’t take long, did it?”

Though he was never one to get easily embarrassed, Roman can feel his cheeks beginning to burn and he quickly looks down at his shoes.

Lighting her cigarette, Destiny takes a long drag as she walks over to the kitchen island and slaps her hand on the seat of one of the barstools.

“Take a load off. I’ll go get my supplies, and we’ll find out for sure,” she says before turning around and marching back toward her bedroom.

Roman walks over to the island and awkwardly sits on the barstool, fighting the anxious feeling bubbling in his stomach. He never dreamed he would be in this position again. After the miscarriage, he couldn’t bear to think about trying again. He wasn’t sure he even wanted to. Losing one child was hard enough; the possibility of losing another scared him to death.

It was strange to think how different everything would be if he’d never miscarried. He knew, at this point, he would’ve been about six months along with Nadia. He’d have a sizable belly, which he knew Peter wouldn’t keep his hands off of, and he’d finally be able to feel her moving and kicking. They had been so excited for that.

Merely three months from now, they would have met their daughter and began the life they had planned. It still broke Roman’s heart to know it wasn’t ever going to happen.

He and Peter rarely discussed Nadia as it was, so why even consider more babies? His biggest fear was that, if he really were pregnant again, it would send Peter running. Did he really believe Peter would do that for a second time? No. But he couldn’t help the paranoid worry picking and digging at his brain.

What’s more, he and Peter were just beginning to feel ‘normal’ again. Though they were engaged, they didn’t have any definite plans for the future beyond that. What kind of wrench would another unplanned pregnancy throw into things now? Roman was fearful just wondering, and if the past summer had taught him anything, it was that people do stupid things when they’re scared.

Before he slips too far into his troubled thoughts, Destiny comes bouncing around the corner with an armful of glass objects. She sets them down on the counter in front of Roman: a medium-sized beaker, a culture tube and a rack, a dropper, and a tiny bottle of reagents.

At Roman’s curious expression, Destiny explains, “I don’t trust pee sticks. I think the old-fashioned methods give the most accurate results.”

“So…does that mean we’re gonna kill a rabbit?” Roman chuckles nervously.

“Not _that_ old-fashioned,” Destiny smirks, flicking the butt of her cigarette into the sink. She slides the beaker over to him. “Go pee in this and bring it back to me. It doesn’t even have to be half-full, just enough to collect.”

Roman’s brow creases in mild disgust as he takes the beaker in his hand and hops off of the barstool. As he turns and makes his way toward the bathroom, he hears Destiny call after him, “And, if you don’t mind, at least _try_ to aim!”

Without turning around, Roman shoots her a ‘thumbs up’ over his shoulder as he strides through the archway of her bedroom.

He comes back a few minutes later with a slow shuffle, holding the beaker at an arm’s length as if its contents are contagious. Destiny watches him from the counter, snapping on a pair of white latex gloves and shaking her head with a laugh.

“What’s so funny?” Roman asks.

“Nothing! You just…look like you’re scared of your own piss,” she giggles.

Rolling his eyes, Roman picks up the pace and comes to the counter, setting the beaker in Destiny’s open hand.

“I aimed,” he sniffs sarcastically.

“Good!” she says brightly.

He takes a seat back on the barstool, intently watching as Destiny prepares this science experiment of hers. Holding the beaker in front of her face, she sticks the spout of the dropper into the fluid and squeezes the bulb at the top, collecting a generous sample. Then, she transfers it from the dropper into the culture tube, filling it three-fourths of the way.

Placing the tube in its rack, she unscrews the tiny dropper from the reagents bottle and fills it with as much of it as she needs. She picks up the tube, holds the little dropper above it and pauses.

“Moment of truth…” she says, looking up at him intense eyes.

Letting out a shaking breath, Roman nods anxiously before casting his eyes to the ground. His stomach twisted itself into an array of complicated knots, and he absently ran a hand over it, trying to soothe the discomfort.

“Hey,” Destiny says gently, sensing Roman’s distress. Roman’s fearful eyes flick up to meet hers. “Whatever happens, it’s gonna be okay. I promise.”

With a tiny smile, Roman replies, “Okay…” and looks back down at his feet, listening to Destiny tinker with the test supplies.

Holding her breath, Destiny carefully squirts the contents of the dropper into the tube. The chemical reacts immediately, turning the fluid’s color from a dull yellow to a deep blue.

“Oh wow…” she gasps quietly.

Roman’s head shoots up at the sound of her voice, and his eyes fall squarely on the shocking blue color in the tube. Carefully, Destiny inches the tube toward him.

“It was instant,” she says matter-o-factly.   

Gingerly taking the tube from her, Roman holds it in front of his face with a hard stare. So many emotions flood through him at once that he doesn’t feel any of them; he’s completely numb. He’s not at all shocked at the outcome; he could sense the change in his body long before now. Even still, now that it’s confirmed, it’s a lot to take.

He remembered finding out about his first pregnancy, how he blew through test after test, trying to convince himself that the previous positives were wrong. He’d locked himself up in his room for nearly three days, avoiding his family and the rest of the world so he could be a complete mess in peace. Eventually, he had to come out, as Shelley flew into hysterics and began trying to break down his door to get to him.

If they weren’t still in school and didn’t share most of the same classes, Roman would’ve avoided Peter completely. He was afraid to tell him, afraid of what would become of them once the secret was out. But he knew that any change in his demeanor wouldn’t go unnoticed, and Peter would confront him long before he was ready to talk about it. He hid the pregnancy from him for an entire month before he finally had the guts to come clean.

Though he harbored the same fears, something about this time felt different, and not in the way he was expecting.

Since losing the first baby, there was a relentless aching in his soul. Every night, he was lulled to sleep by the memory of her heartbeat. At times, he swore there was something moving inside him, and every time he felt a twinge or a nudge in his belly, it broke his heart all over again.

He’d read about these things called “phantom pregnancies”, and part of him wondered if that’s what he was experiencing. But he wasn’t confused, and he knew his body wasn’t trying to trick him into believing he was pregnant. He wasn’t pregnant; he just desperately wished he still was.

Roman had never realized how truly empty he was until he carried her, and when she left him, that emptiness only grew and rooted itself deeper.

Peter coming back into his life had healed him; after months of unbearable loneliness, his love had returned and made him a whole person once more. And yet…there was still a part of him, a small part, that felt so incredibly alone.

Until now.

“You okay?” Destiny suddenly asks, her voice laced with concern.

Still staring at the vial, Roman blinks a couple of times before looking at her, and realizes he has tears running down his cheeks. He looks back at the positive pregnancy test and, for a moment, all of his fear and worry and heartache is washed away and replaced with heart-bursting joy.

Roman’s breath shudders from his lungs and gives Destiny a tiny smile.

“Yeah…Yeah, I think I’m good,” he replies quietly.

Destiny comes over to him and wraps her arm around his shoulders, pulling him into side hug.

“Congratulations!” she squeals, and Roman can’t help but laugh and share in her excitement.

She takes the tube from his shaking fingers and carefully pours its contents into the beaker, turning the fluid inside a putrid green color.

“Okay! After I dispose of this loveliness, I’ll examine you and make sure everything is a-ok,” Destiny says. “You’ll get to see your baby, yay!”

Roman bites down on his lip and runs an uneasy hand down the back of his neck.

“Uh… You know, you don’t have to.”

“Don’t have to what?” Destiny asks without looking up from collecting her test supplies.

“You don’t have to examine me, or…be my midwife or anything. I just came over here because I panicked and I didn’t know where else to go.”

At this, Destiny halts and she shoots her head up to gaze at Roman, her eyes wide with confusion.

“What do you mean?”

Roman shifts uncomfortably on the barstool. “I mean, I don’t want you to feel like you have to help me. Last time, Peter kinda forced me on you because we didn’t know what else to do. And then…well, you know…”

Destiny’s face falls slightly. “Roman…” she sighs sadly.

“I’m just saying, I’d understand if you didn’t want to…after last time,” Roman’s voice quivers.

Sitting down her supplies, Destiny walks over to the other barstool and heavily sits down. Roman turns toward her, blinking away the tears that have formed in his eyes, and Destiny firmly takes a hold of his hand.

“That’s just part of the job, unfortunately. It’s the _worst_ part, and it never gets any easier,” she says. “And, yeah, it was more difficult for me last time because it was you and Peter, but my feelings didn’t matter. My main concern was getting you through it.”

Roman sniffs and wipes at his eye. “You _did_ get me through it.”

Destiny smiles and softly runs her thumb over Roman’s knuckles. “But… If it would be too difficult for you, considering what happened…I get it. I wouldn’t be offended if you wanted to explore other options for prenatal care. It’s your child, and you go where you feel most comfortable, and think you’ll be provided the best care.”

“You,” Roman says quickly, shaking his head. “It’s you. You’re the only one I’d trust to take care of me and this baby. I just didn’t want you to feel like you had to…”

Destiny nudges him gently with her shoulder. “Don’t be ridiculous,” she gives him a sly smile. “I’d be honored.”

Giving his hand a tight squeeze, she bounces up from the barstool and walks over to the other side of the island, picking up the beaker and test tube.

“Well… I’m gonna go flush your piss,” she says. “And after that, we’ll get you checked out. So, get in the bedroom; you know the drill!”

~*~*~*~

Roman lies on Destiny’s bed with his abdomen completely exposed, watching the swirling mass of black and white on the ultrasound screen. Destiny pushes the transducer deep into his gel covered skin, biting her lip in concentration as she searches.

Within seconds, a blinking dot inside a little black circle forms on the screen and Destiny points to it with a bright smile.

“Look! Do you see that?” she practically squeals.

Craning his neck, Roman squints at the screen. “Yeah?”

“That’s your baby.”

A feeling of excitement suddenly flutters in Roman’s stomach as he catches the first glimpse of his baby. It still seemed unreal to him that this was happening again. And, just like during the first ultrasound he had with Nadia, he now knows how he feels; exhilarated and terrified at the same time.

Being able to actually see the baby proved it was real, but since it was real, that meant something could happen to it. He could still hear Destiny’s voice as clear as a bell during his last examination: _“There’s no heartbeat…”_ she’d said. Roman couldn’t go an entire day without hearing those words in his head. Nadia’s heart had stopped without reason, and there was nothing that could be done to save her.

As he watched the screen, an incredible fear that this child would suffer the same fate as it’s sister crept into his heart. He had convinced himself the miscarriage was a sign that he wasn’t meant to be a parent. It terrified him to think he could be anything like his mother; he didn’t want to take the chance.

Yet, even bigger than his fear was his hope that this baby would stay. This was a second chance to prove he was worthy of raising a child, to prove once and for all that he wasn’t Olivia…and he never, ever would be.

“Does it look okay?” Roman asks nervously.

Destiny can hear the shakiness in his voice and knows exactly where his fear is coming from. With a slow ease, she moves the transducer around his belly a bit more until she finds the baby’s tiny, flickering heart. As she turns the volume knob, she looks at him with a smile as the drumming little heartbeat fills the room.

“Looks pretty good to me,” she says with wonder.   

Roman lets out the breath he was holding and closes his tear-filled eyes, listening to the soft whirring sound of his baby’s heart.

“It’s around eight weeks, I’d say. Give Peter a little ‘welcome home’, did we?” Destiny smirks as she sees Roman’s cheeks flush pink.

It’s not as if any math needed to be done to figure that one out; this baby was conceived when Peter came back. She moves the transducer around, pressing a couple of buttons on the machine as she takes measurements.

“Everything seems to be on the right track for eight weeks. And we’ve got a _strong_ heartbeat.”

Roman sniffs, the tears now threatening to boil over. “So, it’s okay? It’s really okay?”

“Yes. It’s great,” she smiles. Then, her brows shoot up at him. “Do you wanna know the sex? It’s too early with this thing, but I can try to tell like last time…”

“No,” Roman clears his throat, reaching up to wipe the tears from his face. “No, I, uh… I want Peter to be here for that.”

Destiny nods. “Okay! But, since he’s not here, let’s just get a little memento for him, shall we?” She presses the buttons on the machine again a few more times before turning to Roman.

“You see my new thingy?” she asks, tapping a small box that’s hooked into the side of the machine with her fingernail. “It’s a printer. We can take baby’s first photo! Now, just take a deep breath and hold it for me for sec.”

Roman does as he’s instructed and watches as Destiny presses another button on the machine. Next to his head, on the bedside table, he hears the printer make a gentle whirring noise as it spits out a glossy looking photograph.

“Aaaaand, one more, keep holding your breath…okay, we’re done!” Destiny says and Roman watches as a second photo pops out of the printer and he exhales.   

Removing the transducer from his stomach, Destiny grabs a handful of tissues from the box on the bedside table and hands them to Roman, who begins to wipe the gel from his skin. He carefully sits up in the bed and lowers his shirt as Destiny cleans the head of the transducer. She picks up the photos by their corners and hands them to Roman before sitting next to him on the bed.

“So…what do you think?” Destiny asks, slipping her arm through Roman’s.

Roman holds the photos delicately in his palms, a smile parting his lips as his eyes scan them all over.

“I think…I’m gonna have a baby,” he says simply.

Destiny lays her head on his shoulder. “Yeah, you are. I’m so happy for you, Roman.”

“Do you think Peter will be?” he blurts out, his smile slowly diminishing.

Hopping up from the bed, Destiny comes to stand in front of Roman, placing her hands firmly on his shoulders.

“Of course, he will,” she says. “He’s gonna be thrilled! Why, are you afraid he won’t be?”

“It’s just…I don’t know. I just got him back. And now we’re engaged… A baby doesn’t really fit into our plan.”

“So, you make a new plan that the baby _will_ fit, if that’s what you want… And I think it is.”

Roman tears his eyes away from the ultrasound photos long enough to look up at Destiny with a nod of agreement.

“I want the baby,” he murmurs. “But I want Peter to want it, too. I don’t want him to get fucking spooked and run off… I can’t lose him again.”

Destiny shakes her head. “You won’t.”

“You don’t know that…”

“I do. Because I know Peter. And I know it is _killing_ him that he hurt you so badly… He fucked up, big time, but he’s owned it,” she says. “I can promise you this... Peter never makes the same mistake twice.”

Roman’s thumb glides across the photo, circling the dot that was supposedly their baby. “He was really excited before. You know, about the other…” his voice trembles.

“I know,” Destiny replies sadly, pushing Roman’s bangs away from his face. “But he’ll be just as excited about this one. Maybe even more so! You guys are getting a second chance; not all parents do. And that’s a good thing, right?”

Biting down on his lip, Roman’s face begins to crumple as new tears well up in his eyes.

“Oh, Roman… What’s wrong?” Destiny asks, worried.

“I just don’t want anything bad to happen…to this one.”

“You can’t think that way. You can’t worry yourself over what may or may not happen. Just take things day by day and live your life. I know you’re scared, and I totally understand why. But just…turn that worry into excitement for this baby. Don’t let the fear take over; you just give it power that way,” Destiny soothes. “And you know I’m going to do everything I can to take care of you both, right?”

Roman stiffly nods. “Yeah…”

“Yeah,” Destiny repeats, coming back to take her place next to Roman on the bed. “Now…how about you go home, prepare a nice, romantic dinner – with music and candles and all that jazz – and tell Peter that he’s gonna be a daddy?”  

A barrage of visions suddenly floods Roman’s mind: Peter feeding the baby as he gently rocks it, Peter reading a book to them before snuggly tucking them into bed at night, Peter teaching them how to tie their shoes and ride a bike and how to color inside the lines. Peter was going to be a daddy, and the thought of it filled Roman’s heart with an almost unbearable happiness.

The tension in his gut finally breaks, and he lets out a light, airy laugh as he wipes the rest of the tears from his eyes. Destiny gently begins to rub his shoulders.

“You okay now?”

“Yeah,” he smiles. “I’m gonna go tell Peter we’re having a baby.”


	20. Chapter 20

Roman is leaning against the kitchen counter cradling a barely touched cup of tea when he hears Peter’s truck come roaring into the drive around half past five o’clock. The breath immediately catches in his throat, an overwhelming twinge of nerves filling his stomach. His eyes shoot a glance toward the upstairs, anticipating the moment Peter finds his surprise.

He did genuinely entertain Destiny’s idea of telling him the news over a romantic dinner. But, considering the house held only a handful of food items that didn’t make him sick, Roman quickly passed on it.

He knew the first thing Peter would do when he came home was take a shower. It had been a brutally hot summer, and even now in October, the temperatures were still struggling to come down. Every night, Peter fell through the door in sweat drenched clothes, his hands and arms stained with motor oil and grease, utterly exhausted.

Endless morning sickness or not, Roman was grateful for Peter’s newfound insistence on cleanliness, as he could usually smell him as soon as he walked through the door.

Taking another sip of tea, Roman tried to quell the anxiety still fluttering in his belly. Then, when he saw Peter’s silhouette appear behind the frosted glass of the door, his heart nearly leapt from his chest.

The door opens and Peter staggers into the foyer with a long, tired sigh. Kicking off his boots, he turns to see Roman at the counter, his weary eyes brightening a bit as he gives him a flirtatious smile.

“Hey,” Peter says, stepping into the kitchen.

“Hey, yourself,” Roman replies.

Peter walks up to Roman, wrapping his arms around his waist and pulling him against his body. Roman holds his breath against Peter’s after-work odor as he leans in to plant a kiss on Roman’s lips.

“How was work?” Roman asks casually.

“Oh, you know… Same shit, different day,” Peter shrugs. “You’re home kinda early, when did you get in?”

“A couple hours ago. I took the afternoon off.”

Peter’s brow crosses in concern. “Why, is everything okay?”

Roman quickly nods. “Yeah! Yeah, everything’s fine. I just…didn’t wanna fucking work today.”

“I hear that,” Peter scoffs. He carefully grabs the mug out of Roman’s hand and takes a hearty swig of tea before placing it on the counter. “You were finished with that, right?”

“I am now…” Roman smirks.

“Cool. I’m gonna go take a shower.” Peter turns and starts to head out of the kitchen, when Roman fires back a retort.

“Good. You smell like shit.”

Peter slowly turns back around, raising a frisky eyebrow as he steps back toward Roman.

“Oh, do I?” He lifts up his arms and starts waving his pits in Roman’s face. “How do I smell now?”

Roman slaps a hand over his nose and mouth as he tries to dodge Peter. He knows its all in good fun and does his best to play along, but the mix of oil, grease, and sweat rolling off of Peter is almost too much for his stomach. He groans as Peter keeps on.

“You like that, huh? That’s what a man smells like, Roman!”

“Ugh, Jesus!” Roman cries, as Peter wraps his arms around his torso with a squeeze.

“Revel in the stench of my manliness!” Peter teases.

“I am!” Roman moans, trying to hide his amusement. “Now get in the fucking shower!”

Finally, Peter releases Roman from his embrace with a cocky grin, more than a little pleased with himself.

“Fine, fine… I’m going,” he chuckles before turning around and jogging out of the kitchen.

Roman lets out a nervous breath and goes back to leaning against the counter, his hand unconsciously rubbing his belly as he listens to Peter tromp up the stairs.

~*~*~*~

Once Peter makes it to the top of the stairs, he starts stripping off his clothes and tossing them carelessly to the floor. It had been a bitch of a day. On top of the fact that they had seemingly endless engines and radiators that needed repairing, it was unusually hot for October, and he did not dress accordingly. Working on cars only bothered him when he did it in the heat.

The first thing he does when he makes it into the bathroom is empty the tank, sighing in relief as he realizes how badly he needed to go. After he finishes, he starts to take off his damp, sweaty shirt when something catches his eye.

His gaze shifts over to a tiny something obstructing the mirror, his face scrunching in confusion as he moves closer to look at it. Immediately, he recognizes it as a photo from an ultrasound exam. Carefully, he peels the photo from the tape holding it to the mirror, squinting closely at the swirls of black and white. In the middle of all the gray, he sees something tiny…something familiar.

Suddenly, he feels his heart begin to gallop in his chest as his eyes frantically search the photo for some kind of confirmation that he’s seeing what he thinks he’s seeing. From the corner of the photo, a date – today’s date – pops out at him, and the breath stops in his throat.

Roman is pouring what is left of his tea into the sink when he hears what sounds like a wild animal stampede descending the stairs. Holding his breath, he turns around and braces himself against the counter.

Seemingly in a daze, Peter staggers from the staircase into the kitchen. When he spots Roman, he stops dead in his tracks, clutching the photo between his fingers so hard, they’re turning white. Their eyes lock, Peter’s expression frozen in a way Roman doesn’t recognize, a horrible fear pooling in his gut as he realizes he can’t read Peter at all.

With a shaking hand, Peter holds up the photo.

“Roman…” he says, his voice frightfully small. “What is this?”

Roman opens his mouth to speak, but closes it in the same breath. He can’t say anything at all, he can’t find the words. He feels completely paralyzed; all he can do is stare at Peter, the fear and anxiety within him threatening to boil over with every silent second that passes.

Peter clears his throat, holding up the photo a little higher. When he speaks again, the words nearly choke him.

“Are you…” his voice cracks harshly. “Are you pregnant?”

Roman watches as Peter’s lip begins to tremble, and his immediately follows suit. Tears fill up his eyes as he simply nods “yes”.

The cry that erupts from Peter is so loud and abrupt, Roman startles and nearly falls back into the sink. The photo drops to the ground as Peter runs up to him and gathers him in his arms, practically lifting him off the floor.

“Holy shit! Are you shitting me?? You’re pregnant?!” Peter frantically cups Roman’s face in his hands, the most ecstatic smile lighting up his face.

Roman’s body begins trembling, tears of relief and happiness falling from his eyes. His head quickly nods in Peter’s hands.

“I’m pregnant,” he says.

“Oh, my FUCK!” Peter cries, planting kisses all over Roman’s tear-soaked face. “This is amazing, baby! I’m so fucking happy!”

“Really? You are?” Roman asks with a shaking voice.

“God, yes. I… I have no words, I…” Peter breathes, the emotion beginning to overtake him. He runs his hands through his hair and steps back, staring at Roman with excited bewilderment. “How far along…?”

“Eight weeks.”

Peter smiles, taking Roman by the hips and pulling him close. “Wow…”

“Yeah. I, uh, went to see Destiny today…cuz, ya know, I thought maybe I was and I just wanted to be sure,” Roman smiles, his chin wobbling. “So, she gave me a test and…it was, like, instantly positive. Then…she checked the baby, and it’s okay…there’s nothing wrong with it! And the heartbeat…oh, you should’ve heard the heartbeat, Peter; it was so strong. Our baby is healthy!”

Roman covers his face with his hands as he begins to laugh and cry at the same time, knowing he probably looks and sounds hysterical. Grabbing onto Roman’s hands, Peter removes them from his face and holds them firmly in his own.

Their eyes lock and they share a grin before Peter lowers himself onto his knees so he’s level with Roman’s stomach.

“Of course, you’re healthy. And you’re gonna grow big and strong in there…you’re gonna be perfect,” Peter coos, lightly placing a kiss on Roman’s navel. “God, I can’t wait to meet you.”

Peter feels Roman’s body begin to shake and quickly jumps back up, pulling Roman into his arms and pressing a hard kiss to his lips. He pulls back, looking deeply into Roman’s teary eyes.

“I love you. I love you so fucking much, Roman.”

“I love you, too,” Roman replies, wiping away his tears with the butt of his hand.

“Can’t believe we’re having a baby…” Peter exasperates.

“Yeah,” Roman squeaks as a fresh round of tears come. Peter’s gently strokes Roman’s cheek, his brow crumpling with a sudden concern.

“Hey,” he says softly. “You alright?”

Roman rapidly shakes his head. “Yes! Yes, I’m…I’m fine, I just…”

“You just what?” Peter whispers, pushing Roman’s bangs away from his forehead.

Roman’s red-rimmed eyes settled heavily on Peter’s nervous face.

“I’m scared,” Roman admits in a small voice. “You know, since I’ve had a miscarriage, it raises my risk for another one by twenty-five percent…”

“That’s _tiny_ , Roman… Twenty-five percent is barely anything.”

“It’s still a risk. A higher one than I would have otherwise,” Roman sniffs. “I don’t want to lose another baby, Peter. I can’t.”

With a sad smile, Peter brings one of Roman’s hands up to his lips and he places a tiny kiss between the knuckles. “Everything is gonna be okay.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Okay, I don’t, but…” Peter sighs, trying to find the right words. “There’s something inside me, this _feeling_ …telling me this time is different; that it’s _right_.”

Roman bites down on his lip, and unmistakable hint of sadness clouding his eyes. Peter is quick to reiterate.

“Not to say that Nadia ‘wasn’t right’. It wasn’t the right time for her, maybe. But I think you know what I mean.”

Closing his eyes, Roman leans backward until the back of his head comes to rest on the cabinet above the sink. His glassy eyes shift up to the ceiling, staring into space, as his hand grazes his belly.

“It does feel different,” Roman says. “I mean, we conceived this baby _right_ off the bat… it happened the night you came back to me. That’s gotta mean something, right?”

Peter grabs a hold of Roman’s hand and presses it to his stomach, letting his hand rest on top and he holds it there. “I think we both know the answer to that.”

Roman gives Peter a half smile and looks down at their intertwined hands, squeezing Peter’s fingers. Peter moves in closer, wrapping his arm around Roman’s waist.

“So…can we be excited about this?” Peter asks, pressing his forehead against Roman’s.

Roman lets out a little laugh and plants a hasty kiss on Peter’s lips. “Yeah.”

“Yeah?” Peter grins.

“Yeah,” Roman nods his head against Peter’s, finally letting himself share in Peter’s enthusiasm. “We’re gonna have a baby!”

Peter takes Roman in his arms and twirls him around until both of them dissolve into fits of happy giggles. He presses a wet kiss on Roman’s cheek.

“Yeah, we are. And we need to celebrate,” Peter says, taking Roman’s hand and leading him to a kitchen chair. “Come… Sit down, my love. Dinner is on me tonight.”

Roman lets Peter lower him into one of the chairs at the table. “You know how to cook?” he smirks.

Peter saunters over to the fridge and opens it, scanning the inside. “Uh… I know how to read. Lynda always said, as long as you can read the recipe, you can cook anything.”

Closing the fridge, he whips around to face Roman. “So! What’s your fancy?”

“I don’t know…” Roman shrugs.

“Oh, c’mon! Whatever you want, I’ll make it. You gotta be having cravings for _something_. Isn’t that what you do when you’re pregnant?”

As if on cue, Roman’s stomach turns uneasily. He hasn’t been able to enjoy food for the past couple of weeks, as anything he tries to swallow just comes back up within a matter of minutes. He knows his reluctance to eat has caused him to lose weight; he’s not sure how much exactly, but it’s enough to make his body feel lighter and more brittle, as if he could snap like a twig in the middle if he bent or turned the wrong way.

It scared him to be losing pounds instead of gaining them, but his first pregnancy was almost identical to this one. He knew he would suffer through the sickness for a few more weeks, and then it would eventually pass. Then, he could take full advantage of the crazy cravings he’d always heard about, eating whatever he wanted.

But, if today were any indication, that day was still a little ways off.

“You make whatever you want. Not trying to piss on your parade or anything but… I’m not really hungry. Like, at all,” Roman says.

“Not hungry? Wh—” Peter starts, then his eyes widen with realization. “Oh. Ohhhhhh… That’s why you’ve been eating like such a bird lately. I gotcha.”

Roman slowly nods. “You’re very observant,” he sarcastically retorts.

“Apparently,” Peter says. He makes his way back over to the kitchen table, coming to stand in front of Roman. “Well! I’m not gonna slave over some big ass meal for just myself. So…grilled cheese?”

“Not hungry,” Roman restates.

“Right, right… Well, I’m making a grilled cheese because that sounds good as shit right now. And I guess you can sit here and watch me eat it.”

“Mm, delicious.”

Peter bends down to kiss the tip of Roman’s nose before bouncing back into the kitchen, feeling so light and giddy, he nearly forgets about dinner altogether.

~*~*~*~

Later that night, Peter and Roman lie next to each other in bed. Roman’s shirt is pushed up to his ribcage, barely able to hide his amusement as Peter caresses and tickles the contours of his bare belly.

“You’re not gonna be able to feel anything yet, Peter! Baby’s not big enough,” Roman chuckles.

“I wouldn’t be so sure… Rumancek babies have always been on the large side. You’re gonna have your work cut out for you, come birthday,” Peter says, gently feeling Roman’s fleshy tummy. “Is that a head I’m feeling?”

“Shut up,” Roman playfully slaps his hand away. “And get off me.”

Peter snickers and rests his head on Roman’s shoulder. Roman gives him a side eye. “You’re ridiculous,” he scoffs.

“Aw, whatsa matter?” Peter pouts. “Just now realizing you’re going to be _permanently_ tied to me for the rest of your life?”

“Yes,” Roman smiles. “And I am absolutely beside myself about it.”

“I hear you there,” Peter replies with a sigh.

He gently places his hand on Roman’s stomach again and Roman rests his hand on top of his. Neither one of them says a word for a few seconds, as they look at the ceiling above them, losing themselves in their separate thoughts.

Peter can’t remember the last time he’d felt so joyous. He thought nothing could possibly top the exhilaration of the night he and Roman reunited, but tonight had proven him wrong. It was so wonderfully unbelievable to him that Roman was pregnant again. They had just begun to work through their grief over losing Nadia, never once entertaining the idea of trying for another baby. But a baby is coming, and he’s getting a second chance at being a father. There’s nothing else in this world he wants more.

The nervous buzzing in Roman’s stomach has finally ceased, now that he’s told Peter the news. Overwhelmed with relief, he’s silently thanking God and all of his angels that Destiny was right; Peter _is_ thrilled about this baby.

In the hours before Peter was due home, Roman’s anxiety kept playing out the worst of every scenario in his head, and it got to him so much, he almost chickened out of telling Peter altogether. But he knew Peter was hell-bent on restoring Roman’s trust, and he couldn’t rightfully hide things from him in return.

In this moment, he didn’t know whether he should laugh, or cry, or scream; he was filled with so much exaltation, it could hardly be contained quietly.

Peter’s thumb draws soft little circles in the skin of Roman’s belly. “What do you think it is?”

It takes Roman a second or two to realize what he means, then he takes another moment to form an answer.

“I don’t know… What do _you_ think?”

Peter shrugs against Roman’s shoulder. “Not sure… I mean, I was excited we were having a girl before, even though I don’t know shit about girls.”

“You think it’s another girl?” Roman asks.

Peter is about to reply when a sudden memory hits him so strongly, it practically knocks the breath from his chest. The dream plays out in his mind as vividly as it did that night so many months ago; in his wolf form, rolling around gleefully in the frigid snow with a strange, wily cub.

But the cub really isn’t so strange. Something about this energetic, ornery pup feels familiar, like it’s an extension of himself. He had once assumed the cub was a manifestation of his grief for Nadia, a wishful thought on his part as he mourned what she could’ve been.

Perhaps, the cub wasn’t Nadia at all. It was never intended to be.

“Oh, my God…” Peter mutters, louder than he meant to.

“What?” Roman asks, alarmed.

Peter shakes the memory of the dream out of his head as he looks down into Roman’s worried eyes.

“Um… It’s the weirdest fucking thing. I, uh… I had a dream, months ago. It was when we were at Destiny’s…during the miscarriage. I dreamt that I was turned, and I was running through the forest and… It’s the dead of winter, it’s snowing. I came to this huge clearing, and I stopped; for no reason, I just stopped right there…like I was waiting for something.

Then, I hear something come running up behind me. I look and it’s a cub. And it’s got my eyes. So, then we just start…playing. We’re rolling around in the snow, wrestling like we know each other, like we’re close. We were having fun.

And it hits me, suddenly…that the cub is _mine_. It’s my kid, and it’s like me.”

Peter’s eyes begin to water as he recounts the dream. Clearing his throat, he glances at Roman, who is watching him with wide, intense eyes. Peter sniffs, wiping at his nose as he continues.

“I thought I was just dreaming about the baby we lost…that I was mourning in my sleep, over what we almost had,” Peter sighs. “But… _our_ dreams? They’re never just dreams, are they?”

Roman blinks a couple of times, his eyes swimming down to his stomach as the nauseous feeling returns. His nightmare from a week ago suddenly flashes in his mind, the one that startled him out of a dead sleep with a fear that bled down to his roots. Who was it that was guiding him into the woods? What did they want with him? What were Destiny and Peter so desperate to keep him from doing? Why did he do it anyway?

 _They’re never just dreams…_  

Roman pushes the images out of his mind. It wasn’t important right now, and maybe it never would be. It could have just been a nightmare…he hopes. All he wanted to think about now was Peter’s dream, and what it could mean for their future. He didn’t want to ruin this night worrying about something his sick little mind conjured up that even he didn’t understand.

“You think… that the cub in your dream is..?” Roman stammers, his head motioning toward his belly.

Peter shrugs ambivalently. “I don’t know. I think it’s possible, don’t you?”

Roman carefully nods. “What was it?”

“What was what?”

“The cub,” Roman says. “Was it a girl? Or a boy?”

Peter squints hard as he thinks back on it. “I can’t say for sure but… It _felt_ like it was my son.”

The tears that spring up in Roman’s eyes are instantaneous. A short, but happy laugh escapes him as he hastily swipes the water from his face.

“It’s a boy?” Roman breathes.

“I…don’t know if it’s a boy, I just… If it is, I wouldn’t be shocked.”

Roman sniffs the rest of his tears away, his hand mindlessly rubbing over his stomach. “Well… Whatever it is, I hope they _are_ like you.”

“Why?” Peter scoffs.

“Because,” Roman says, eyes snapping up sharply to look at Peter. “I’d rather have them be _anything_ than be like me.”

At these words, Peter feels something inside him drop. Nothing dismayed him more than when Roman tore himself down. He’d wished more times than he could count that for just one minute, Roman could see himself through his eyes. But no matter how many of his pieces Peter picked up and tried to glue back on, Roman refused to believe he was anything more than a monster.

“Roman…” Peter sighed.

“No, Peter. You don’t want our baby to be like me…to be like Olivia.”

“You’re _not_ Olivia. You may be Upir like her, but that’s where the similarities fucking end. You’re not even full Upir, so that’s something, right?” Peter smiles, giving Roman a playful nudge with his elbow. But Roman is unmoved.

“I don’t want the gene to be passed on. I don’t want there to be even the slightest possibility that they could have inherited anything from her. That’s my biggest fear; that I’m gonna pass this fucking _disease_ onto my kid, or that, eventually, I’ll turn into my mother. Because either way, I’m gonna ruin my baby’s fucking life and—”

“Roman—”

“If this baby is Upir, it will be my fault. I can’t do to my child what she did to me,” Roman spits through gritted teeth, his cheeks growing red with fluster.

Peter takes Roman’s face in his hands. “Hey. Look at me.”

Roman does as he’s asked, though his eyes are seething with anger.

“This is beyond your control. You can’t choose what our child inherits or doesn’t inherit,” Peter says sternly. “But… if they do end up being Upir, they will be like _you_ …not Olivia. Because you are _not_ like her. And you never will be.”

They stare at each other silently for a moment before Roman sits up in the bed, turning to stare straight ahead of him like he’s lost in thoughtful concentration.

“What?” Peter asks uneasily.

“The baby’s not gonna be like me…” Roman says with finality. “You said it yourself; they’re never just dreams.”

With a sigh, Peter sits up and places a soft kiss on Roman’s temple. Roman turns to look at him, a slow smile lighting up his face as he leans in to rest his forehead against Peter’s.

Closing his eyes, Peter places a tender hand on Roman’s belly. “Either way, God help us.”


	21. Chapter 21

FIVE WEEKS LATER

A month had passed without much excitement, much to their relief. Roman and Peter took each day with easy stride, their daily routines consisting mostly of working and sleeping. The most eventful thing to happen was Roman finally getting over his morning sickness, which he and Peter celebrated by ordering Chinese takeout, and Roman got an order of pork dumplings all to himself.

It was a small triumph, but a victory nonetheless.

In the serene evenings they had to themselves, they poured all of their focus into planning for the baby; what names they liked (or absolutely despised), how they should decorate the nursery…when they should share the news. Lynda still has no idea Roman is pregnant, and keeping it under wraps is about to send Peter’s head into orbit.

But, they had agreed, they weren’t to tell a soul until the end of Roman’s first trimester. He’d lost Nadia just as he entered his second, and though Roman had never considered himself to be superstitious, he still felt that telling anyone sooner would only jinx them. Peter had readily agreed, wanting to ensure the baby’s health before involving anyone else.

Roman was due for an ultrasound with Destiny next week, and once they know for sure everything is okay, they plan on telling Lynda. Hopefully, they’ll be able to tell her the sex of the baby as well.

More than anything, Roman wants to tell Shelley. At least a dozen times, he’d written out a text to her, but he could never bring himself to send it. Divulging such delicate information was too risky while she was still under Olivia’s eye. She would only make life even more hellish for Shelley if she were to discover they had been in contact, which is why Roman had cut off all means of communication months ago.

It killed him to imagine what Shelley must think of him now, that he was a deserter, a traitor, a coward. Shelley was relentlessly gracious and forgiving, but there was only so much disappointment and pain a person could take. He tried not to let his thoughts go there.

Today, however, it was difficult to keep his mind out of that dark place. He was just now walking out of a morning meeting that had lasted over forty-five minutes, and he had begun to run out of other random things to think about. Their monthly prototype budget held little importance to Roman; he was mainly there for appearances anyway.

He filed out of the room behind a dozen other suit-clad board members, his own suit vest beginning to feel tight around his swelling stomach. He was just now entering his thirteenth week, and he was more fearful than ever. His last pregnancy ended at thirteen weeks.

He had nightmares about the miscarriage sometimes, a shot for shot re-enactment from start to finish in his head, and though he didn’t think it possible, it became harder to stomach with each viewing.

If he could just get to fourteen; he has to make it to week fourteen.

“Mr. Godfrey!”

Roman whips around at the sound of his name and sees a man and a woman in white lab coats jogging down the hallway toward him.

“Yes?” he answered them. He thought he should address them by name, and he would have had he bothered to actually learn their names.

When they make it to him, they both have to stop for a second or two to catch their breath.

“Sorry, sir. I know you’re probably busy, but we just had a couple of things to run by you,” the man says.

“No, I’m not busy,” Roman shrugs, hitching his thumb forward. “Let’s walk and talk.”

Roman turns on his heel and starts walking, the two lab coats tottering closely behind.

“Well, as you may already know, Dr. Clements and I have been in the process of developing a prototype for a prosthetic skin,” the man explains hurriedly, as he and the woman struggle to keep up with Roman’s long strides. “The goal of this prosthetic is to actually match the pigmentation of the patient’s natural skin tone. However, we haven’t been able to test out the prosthetic on human skin. Now, it is still in it’s early stages, but we believe it’s—”

“That sounds cool,” Roman suddenly says, pushing open the door to the stark white stairwell leading downstairs. The three of them begin their trot down the stairs.

“The only thing, sir, is…we haven’t discussed any of this yet with Dr. Pryce,” the woman says.

Roman lets out a guffaw, which makes both lab coats fall silent.

“Haven’t talked to Pryce, huh?” Roman scoffs.

“Um…n-no, sir,” the woman mutters.

“We don’t believe Dr. Pryce really sees the project as a priority right now…” the man says.

If they wanted to get technical about it, now that Roman was heading Godfrey Industries, Pryce really had no dominion over anything. Roman could override Pryce’s every decision and approve all that he didn’t. But he suspected the lab coats were all too aware of that, hence why they were here now.

And Roman would do just about anything to be a little thorn in Pryce’s side; it kept him on his toes and reminded him who was really in charge.

“Well! Anything not a priority to Pryce is a priority to me,” Roman says. “Just bring the paperwork to me sometime this afternoon and—”

They begin to descend a new set of stairs, when the heel of Roman’s left shoe suddenly clips the edge of the step he’s on. He quickly topples backward, landing hard on his back and sliding midway down the stairs, before the momentum of the fall flips him over onto his stomach. His hands wildly grab for the railing to stop himself, but he can’t get a hold of it.

When he gets to the bottom of the staircase, he rolls all the way down to the floor, sprawling out flat like a starfish. The lab coats frantically gallop down the stairs after him, dropping to their knees on the ground beside him.

“Mr. Godfrey! Are you alright, sir?” the man asks.

“Are you hurt, Mr. Godfrey?” the woman, Dr. Clements, asks.

Roman lets the furious questions fly right past him as all of his focus is zeroed in on the pain that’s radiating from his back and abdomen. He brings his hands up to clutch his stomach, not giving the slightest care that the lab coats might notice.

Wincing, he tries to sit up, hoping movement will help work the pain out. But a sharp cramp tears through him, and he immediately collapses onto his back again. He feels tears gather in his eyes, the throbbing in his gut feeling so horrifyingly familiar. _No… no, no, no. Not this baby. Not again._

“Get Pryce,” Roman grunts, biting down on his lip to keep it from wobbling.

“C-Can you move?” the man stammers. “Sir—"

“FUCKING GET PRYCE!!” Roman roars, tightening the grip on his belly as he tries once again to get into a sitting position.

The man quickly turns and scrambles back up the stairs, Dr. Clements remaining timidly by Roman’s side. She carefully takes hold of his arm and helps him sit up, his hand rubbing the small of his back.

“Mr. Godfrey?” Clements asks.

“Roman… Just call me Roman,” he mumbles.

“Okay… Does anything hurt?”

“No,” Roman lies. “No, I’m okay. Just…got the wind knocked out of me.”

Clements eyes him closely, knowing he wouldn’t have requested Pryce unless something was wrong. But, to Roman’s relief, she doesn’t press the issue.

About that time, they hear the door to the stairwell open, followed by hurried footsteps. Roman glances up to see Pryce calmly appear at the top of the stairs, with the lab coat man hovering nervously behind. As they make their way down, Pryce’s eyes lock onto Roman’s, and Roman swears for just a second or two, he sees genuine concern in Pryce’s face.

“What happened?” Pryce asks as he steps off the staircase.

“I slipped…fell all the way down the stairs,” Roman winces as another cramp shoots through his lower back.

Pryce crouches down next to him. “Are you having difficulty moving any of your limbs or extremities?” he asks, his hands coming to rest on Roman’s knee.

Roman firmly grabs Pryce’s shoulder and pulls him so close, his lips are nearly touching Pryce’s ear.

“I’m pregnant,” Roman says to him in a harsh whisper.

Pryce’s head snaps toward him, his gaze narrowed suspiciously, as if he’s just figured out he’s been the victim of some dubious prank.

Roman gives him a desperate look. “Please…” he pleads, through gritted teeth. “Help me.”

Pryce’s face falls in realization and he slowly turns to the two lab coats.

“Dr. Monroe, Dr. Clements… Thank you for alerting me to Mr. Godfrey’s plight. I can take it from here. You may return to your work now,” he says.

The lab coats stand there for a moment, stealing perplexed glances at one another.

“He’s alright,” Pryce says. Then, his tone takes on a sharper edge. “You may return to your work now.”

Both doctors gently bow their heads in dismissal. They trot back up the stairs, and Pryce keeps his ears perked, waiting for the opening of the door at the top of stairwell. When the door clangs shut, Pryce turns his attention back to Roman.

“How far along is the pregnancy?” he asks, his voice slipping into that overly clinical lull of his that Roman detests.

“Thirteen weeks,” Roman says quietly, resting a gentle hand on his belly. “Thirteen weeks today, actually.”

“Did you land on your front?” Pryce asks.

“Not at first. I landed on my back, then about half way down, I flipped over and rode the rest of the way on my stomach…” Roman’s eyes begin to tear up, his lip quivering as he explains the details of the fall. “I tried to…grab something, stop myself. I couldn’t.”

Pryce’s eyes fall on Roman’s middle. “May I?”

Roman nods his consent and Pryce gently presses his fingers into Roman’s abdomen. “Does it hurt when I do this?” he asks.

“No,” Roman replies, shaking his head.

“Are you feeling any pain elsewhere?”

“My back kinda hurts, but… I’ve had some cramping.”

“In your abdomen?”

Letting out a trembling breath, Roman nods his head as a tear escapes from his eye.

“I need to be examined. Please, Pryce… You…you need to check the baby, I need you to check the baby. I… I just need to see if my baby’s okay!” Roman begins to ramble.

Pryce grabs onto Roman’s shoulders and looks him in the eye. “Okay, okay… Calm yourself,” Pryce says, his voice uncharacteristically soothing to Roman. “First and foremost, we need to get you on your feet, so let’s gently…

Putting an arm through Roman’s, Pryce carefully begins to lift him off the ground. Roman lets out a tiny moan of discomfort as he comes to stand.

“Any pain in your hips or legs?” Pryce asks.

“No,” Roman says. “Just sore, I’m fine.”

Once he’s on his feet, Roman twists his arm out of Pryce’s grasp and turns to go back up the flight of stairs.

Behind him, Pryce clears his throat. “I thought one of our examination rooms downstairs would be more…appropriate, for such a matter.”

Roman glances at Pryce, his head giving a curt nod of agreement as he walks past him to the descending staircase. Pryce follows him closely as they make their way downstairs, an amused smirk lifting the corner of his mouth.

“Pregnancy certainly explains it,” he says cordially.

“Explains what?” Roman asks.

“Well, I wasn’t going to speak of it, but… I did think you were beginning to look a bit more upholstered around the middle.”

“Oh, fuck off.”

~*~*~*~

As soon as they set foot in the examination room, Roman tears off his suit jacket and vest and tosses them to the floor. He rips the buttons of his dress shirt open and flops down on the exam table, unbuckling his belt.

From behind the exam table, Pryce rolls out an expensive looking ultrasound machine and pulls it up beside Roman, before turning it on.

“I should inform you now that obstetrics is not exactly my field of expertise,” Pryce says. “I’m skilled in the basics of embryonic and fetal development, but beyond that, my knowledge is limited.”

Roman’s eyes shoot up to look at him, his frenzied hands working to undo his pants.

“I’m just looking for a heartbeat, Pryce.”

“That, I can certainly decipher,” Pryce nods.

Finally, Roman has his pants undone and lowered past his waist. He lifts his undershirt up to his ribcage as Pryce places a white cotton sheet over his hips. He picks up a bottle of Aquasonic gel and squirts a generous glob onto the slight swell of Roman’s belly. Without wasting any more time, he grabs the transducer and plunges it into the gel.

The ultrasound screen comes to life in an instant as Pryce moves the transducer all over Roman’s abdomen. Roman watches the screen intensely, his heart thumping so hard against his chest, the beats seem to be echoing in his ears.

He’d always heard the number thirteen was an unlucky number, that it signified bad things were on the horizon. Such a thing would never have held any significance to him before, but now it seemed like his own personal omen. This couldn’t happen to him again; he wouldn’t allow it.

When he realizes his hands are shaking, he quickly tucks them underneath his thighs and tries to take a deep breath. He needed to be calm, for himself and for the baby. He didn’t want to fall apart, especially in this place.

As he looks closer, he sees something form on the screen; the undeniable shape of his child, so much bigger than it had been a few weeks ago. The breath stalls in his lungs as his eyes dart from the screen to Pryce, who is squinting hard at the images before him. The room is much too quiet for his liking, and his nerves become more agitated as the seconds tick by.

“There it is,” Pryce says quietly, pushing the transducer deeper into Roman’s skin.

“What?” Roman spits, wild-eyed. “What is it?”

Pryce reaches over to the machine and turns a big knob. The baby’s loud heartbeat suddenly begins echoing clearly throughout the room, and all of Roman’s muscles seem to melt as his anxiety finally releases him.

“There doesn’t seem to be any placental abrasions or internal bleeding. Fetal heartrate is 130 beats per minute, which is perfectly within normal range,” Pryce explains.

Sighing in relief, Roman smiles brightly at his baby on the screen. “So, it’s okay? The fall didn’t hurt it?” he asks.

“No,” Pryce shakes his head. “He seems to be developing right on track for thirteen weeks gestation.”

Roman feels his heart skip a beat. His attention quickly snaps away from the screen to Pryce, who is still studying the baby intently.

“What did you say?” he asks, his voice shaky.

Pryce glances at him curiously.

“Did you just say… ‘he’?”

Pryce’s eyes go wide for a second, realizing what he’s just let slip. It happens so subtly, Roman nearly misses it.

“Uh… he, she, they… _They’re_ developing normally,” he chuckles, waving his hand dismissively before going back to look at the screen.

“You _said_ ‘he’,” Roman smirks.

“The fetus is about the size of a pea pod,” Pryce says, making an obvious show of ignoring him.

“Pryce…”

Pryce stabs Roman with daggers out of the corner of his eye. “Would you like to know the sex?” he asks through pursed lips.

“I think I already do,” Roman says with a cocky grin.

Clearing his throat, Pryce keeps moving the transducer around, as if he’s looking for something. Roman eyes him closely, waiting for him to confirm what Roman is already so sure of.

“I’m not very well learned in the etiquette of these matters. My apologies if I spoiled the surprise,” Pryce deadpans, though his cheeks turn pink with embarrassment. “But, yes… It appears to be a boy. Congratulations.”

“Wow…” Roman breathes as he intently watches his baby’s movements.

Pryce presses a couple of buttons on the ultrasound and a few seconds later, a set of glossy photos begin to scroll out of a slot on the front of the machine.

“Thought maybe you’d like a souvenir,” Pryce quips, returning the probe to its caddy.

He swiftly wipes the white sheet over Roman’s stomach to mop up some of the gel. Roman takes the sheet from him and wipes off the rest before slipping his pants back up.

Roman sits up on the exam table and reaches over to take the photos, holding them carefully in his hands as he marvels at the images of the baby. It took his breath away seeing how much it had grown in just a little over a month…how much _he_ had grown.

Peter’s dream had been right. He was having a boy. And if that part of the dream was right, so was the rest of it; their son was to grow into a wolf, a warrior…just like his father.

His hand comes to rest on his belly, his eyes memorizing the baby’s shape in the photograph, when a horrid thought creeps into his mind. At thirteen weeks, Nadia would have looked just like this when she died. And for a split second, Roman thinks he may vomit right here on the exam room floor.

The very same could’ve been said about the baby inside him now. He had come close, too dangerously close to reliving the nightmare of losing his daughter. The idea of having to say goodbye to yet another child, one he would never even get the chance to meet, makes him sick to his stomach.

He’s so lost in his anxiety, he doesn’t even notice Pryce standing in front of him, waving a tissue in his face.

“I’ve always gathered that pregnancy is a rather emotional time… But, I fear this is not due to an influx of hormones.”  

His words sound like nothing but water-logged noise to Roman, but it’s enough to break him away from his thoughts. It is only then he realizes he’s crying, heavily.

“Roman,” Pryce says, his voice unusually soft.

“I…I…” Roman stammers, his breath shallow, painful.

“Does something hurt?” Pryce asks with a hint of genuine alarm.

Roman rapidly shakes his head. “No…”

“I’m never one to be inclined to pry, Roman, but it appears that today’s events have inflicted a trauma, of sorts. And I can’t rightfully ignore that.”

“I…I could’ve…I could’ve hurt the baby,” Roman hiccups. “I could’ve lost the baby.”

“Well, I suppose the fetus would’ve suffered significant harm had you been struck with blunt force to the abdomen, but it appears as if--”

“No, you don’t get it!” Roman yells, his fist slamming down on the exam table. “I could’ve lost _this_ baby, too!”

A moment of deathly silence passes between them, Pryce’s eyes widening slightly at this new bit of information. All the pieces have now fallen into place; this emotional breakdown makes perfect sense.

Pryce tightly folds his arms across his chest, having no idea what to say. What does one say to ease the pain of someone who has lost a child? He realizes just as quickly that there is nothing you can say to lessen that torment, so he stays silent and lets Roman release his pain in any way he sees fit.

“I had a miscarriage in June. I was thirteen weeks and I just…bled out,” Roman sniffs, his voice frightfully small. “It was a girl. There was no reason for it; her heart stopped beating. And that was it.”

Roman has no idea where this is coming from. He’s never been so vulnerable or shared this much of his personal life with Pryce, but for some reason, all of the hurt he’s held inside for so many months is begging to be set free at this very second.

Pryce swallows hard, fighting the emotion that’s beginning to take over him as well. He never liked to hear of things happening to children. It always reminded him of Shelley, and thinking of her and the night he had to bring her back always broke his heart.

“My condolences,” Pryce sighs sadly. “I can’t imagine what that must have been like for you.”

Roman’s swollen, tear flooded eyes glance up at him, the look of despair in them enough to make Pryce want to cry himself, which was something he rarely felt the desire to do.

“It was awful… it still is,” Roman whimpers. “Now, I’m thirteen weeks with this baby, and look what almost happened. I almost fucking killed my child because I wasn’t paying attention to where the fuck I was going and… Oh, God…. What if something happens later? What if he’s fine now, but tonight his heart fucking stops like the last one and then…and then I…”

Roman is becoming hysterical now, and Pryce has no idea how to calm him. He steps forward, thinking that maybe all Roman needs is a comforting touch or embrace, but he’s never been good with affection. He’s sure that would just make things awkward and upset Roman even more.

“Roman,” Pryce says, squatting down a bit so he can be in Roman’s eye-line. “Perhaps it would benefit you to go home and rest. You’ve had an incredibly stressful day, and we can handle things here.”  

But Roman doesn’t respond. His breathing just becomes quicker and the tears fall faster. The photos from the ultrasound fall to the ground as Roman buries his face in his hands, his cries now sounding more like screams.

“Roman, look at me… Look at me!” Pryce shouts, grabbing Roman by the shoulders.

Finally, Roman’s hands fall to his sides, but his eyes won’t meet Pryce’s. His body is violently trembling, and Pryce fears what will happen if he lets this go on much longer.

“Is there someone I can call for you?” Pryce asks calmly.

He asks the question, knowing he hasn’t a clue who he would even reach out to. He sure as hell knew he wasn’t about to call Olivia; a reunion of that nature would result in a literal bloodbath in a matter of seconds. He supposed he could call Roman’s uncle, Norman, but the thought of having to speak to Norman, let alone interact with him, made Pryce shudder with unease.

Norman held a strong disdain for Pryce ever since Shelley’s “re-birth”, blaming him for turning his beloved niece into, what he called, a monster. He wholly understood Norman’s vexation at Shelley’s situation and how it affected her daily life, but despite what she had become, Pryce was just thankful she was still here on this Earth. She provided an unconditionally kind soul that the world was in dire need of.

In fact, she was probably the person Roman needed right now. But Pryce knew all about the legal mess he was currently in with Olivia, and he wasn’t about to throw himself into her crossfire.

Then, it suddenly dawns on him; there was one person he could try.

A few weeks ago, he’d heard the murmurs of rumors spreading throughout the office amongst the gossipers and busy-bodies who took priority in making other peoples’ business their own. He wasn’t one to partake in water-cooler talk himself, but he did enjoy the occasional eavesdrop.

Apparently, “that dirty gypsy fuck”, Peter Rumancek, was back in town. Whether he really was or not mattered little to Pryce, but he knew the rumors were true when Roman’s demeanor seemed to dramatically improve all of a sudden.

It wouldn’t surprise Pryce in the least bit if Peter was the father of Roman’s child. He was so sure of it, in fact, he would wager the entirety of his life savings on it if anyone cared to disagree.

Pryce tightens his grip on Roman’s shoulders, trying to get him to make eye contact, but he still won’t.

“Roman… Tell me who you want me to call for you,” Pryce says. “Peter Rumancek, perhaps?”

At the mention of Peter’s name, Roman visibly calms, but furiously shakes his head.

“No! No, don’t call anyone… I don’t want anyone, I just want to be left alone!” Roman cries, hand clutching his stomach. “Thanks for your help, but please just…get out. Leave me alone.”

Pryce’s hands raise in surrender as he steps away from Roman. “Okay,” he says calmly. “I will leave you to gather yourself. Any calls or visitors for you I will handle personally. Take all the time you need.”

Roman nods, staring into the floor.

Pryce swiftly exits the room, trying to ignore the sound of Roman’s agonizing sobs that follow him down the hallway.

~*~*~*~

“Rumancek! Phone call!”

Elbows deep under the hood of a rusted old pick-up truck, Peter’s head snaps over his shoulder to see his supervisor, Dwight, at his desk, holding the phone up in the air. Prying his arms out from under the engine, he hastily wipes some of the oil from his hands on a dirty rag that’s hanging out of his pocket.

He saunters over to Dwight’s desk, hoping he’s finally getting a call back about that shock absorber he ordered for an old Jeep Wrangler. They’d been jacking him around for the past week on the delivery date and the owner was growing frustrated that the problem hadn’t been fixed yet. Peter empathized, as this distributor was starting to piss him off as well. The sooner this Jeep was gone and out of his sight, the better.

With his hand over the receiver, Dwight thrusts the phone toward him.

“Who is it?” Peter asks.

“I don’t know,” Dwight shrugs. “Says he’s some doctor from the Godfrey place.”

Peter’s stomach plummets into his toes as he snatches the phone from Dwight’s hand. He walks as far away from the desk as the phone’s cord will allow him, and he presses the phone to his ear.

“Hello??” Peter answers quietly, fighting the panic in his voice.

_“Peter, hello. This is Dr. Johann Pryce with the Godfrey Institute. I hope I didn’t catch you at an inconvenient time.”_

“No! No, you’re fine. Um…what’s going on?”

_“Well, I’m calling on behalf of Roman Godfrey. He took a bit of a tumble about a half hour ago—”_

“Tumble?? What happened? Is he alright?” Peter fires off questions, fear beginning to pool in his gut.

_“He seems to have simply lost his footing while going down a flight of stairs. Now, he has been thoroughly examined and there are no visible external or internal injuries.”_

“What about the…uh…” Peter lowers his voice a bit. “He’s pregnant, Pryce.”

_“Yes, I was made aware of that. I checked the state of the fetus and can report that it was unharmed and is progressing normally for its gestational age.”_

Peter lets out an enormous sigh of relief. “Oh, my God. That’s…oh, thank fuck.”

_“However, I’m concerned. This incident seems to have been quite traumatic for Roman. He is rather, shall I say, hysterical at the moment and unable to be consoled. I was wondering if you could—”_

“I’ll be right there,” Peter interrupts.

_“Oh! Excellent. I will meet you in front of the building to ensure you gain entry.”_

“Okay, see you in a bit.”

Peter practically throws the phone at Dwight as he fumbles for the car keys stuffed in his pocket.

“Dwight, I gotta go! I have a family emergency!”

Before Dwight can even offer a reply, Peter hits a dead run out of the shop, his heart racing so fast, he fears it may burst right out of his chest.


	22. Chapter 22

Peter roars into the parking lot of the Godfrey Institute, the station wagon barely coming to a full stop before he jumps out of it. He jogs all the way to the front of the building, and sees Pryce waiting for him just outside on the walkway.

He’s severely out of breath by the time he makes it to Pryce, doubling over at the ache in his lungs.

“Good morning,” Pryce says cordially, not at all phased by Peter’s wheezing.

“’Morning,” Peter coughs out, straightening back up to look Pryce in the eye. “Where’s Roman? Is he okay?”

Pryce motions for Peter to follow him, holding open the big door of the entrance as Peter walks through. They immediately come to a burly security guard leaning against a walk-through metal detector. The guard eyes Peter sharply as they come closer, uncrossing his arms and standing tall at attention.

Peter shoves his hands into his pockets, ready to empty them and spread his limbs out to be frisked, when Pryce gives the guard a dismissive little wave.

“Not to worry, Mark. He’s with me.”

The guard gives Pryce a nod and goes back to folding his arms, but Peter feels glaring eyes burning into the back of his head as they walk away. Eventually, they stop in front of a wide elevator, and Pryce presses the ‘Down’ arrow.

“Roman is resting in one of our lower level examination rooms. I checked in on him briefly before you arrived, and he appears to have calmed a bit. However, he’s still quite distressed, and wishes to be left alone,” Pryce explains. “But, given the circumstances, I don’t believe solitude would be beneficial to him at the moment.”

“Circumstances?” Peter asks nervously. “I thought you said everything was alright.”

“It is, but I’m afraid that is what has triggered this hysteria in him; the possibility of things just as easily _not_ being alright.” Pryce gives Peter a knowing look. “Taking such a fall during pregnancy could’ve garnered a much different, more devastating, outcome.”

Peter shudders at the chill that suddenly runs down his spine. Of course, when Pryce called and told him that Roman fell, his mind immediately went to the worst-case scenario. Even when he’d been assured that the baby was okay, he still couldn’t help wondering if it really _was_ okay. And he drove the entire way to the institute with the same sick feeling he had the night they lost Nadia.

All of this, like most of the conflicts between him and Roman, boils down to her. He didn’t even want to think about what would happen if they lost this baby too.

The doors of the elevator open with a smooth, mechanical whirr and Peter steps inside behind Pryce, who once again presses the down arrow. Peter squints against the glaring white of the elevator’s walls, bothered by how something so pristine could feel this sinister.

One thing was certain; he wasn’t in his element, and he was thankful they were by-passing most of the people who worked here. Like the security guard, his presence would no doubt be met with instant disapproval and suspicion.

Finally, the elevator begins to move, and Peter feels his stomach drop as they begin their descent.

“While I myself am not one of them, I’ve found that most people benefit from the company and support of others during trying times,” Pryce says. “Roman is quite vulnerable at the moment, and you’re his…friend. He may not think so now, but I believe that is what he needs.”

“I’m surprised you care that much,” Peter blurts out. He can practically feel Lynda smacking him in the back of the head for his rudeness as shame begins to burn the back of his neck.

Pryce’s eyes shift in his direction, a sly grin pulling at the corner of his mouth.

“As am I,” he replies.

Peter clears his throat. “Sorry, I… that was a dickhead thing to say. Not trying to imply that you don’t care, I just—”

“Quite alright. I know what you meant.” Pryce says.

They ride the rest of the way in silence, and when the elevator dings, Peter hardly waits for the doors to open before rushing out. Pryce turns left, leading them down a long hallway. He stops just outside a door labeled “Exam Room 1”, clasping his hands in front of him as he turns to look at Peter.

“Now, he doesn’t know you’re here. He was very adamant that I not contact you, but….” Peter sees something in Pryce’s face suddenly soften, almost like he’s sad. “In all the years I’ve known that boy, you are the only one who has ever been able to quell his demons.”

The swell of Peter’s heart is so immense, it almost hurts. The presence of tears prick at his eyes, but he quickly sniffs them away. He didn’t want to turn into a fucking sap, in front of Pryce, of all people. His stomach fluttered anxiously; he needed to see Roman, needed to feel him in his arms, and he needed to _now_.

“Shall we?” Pryce asks with his hand on the door knob. Peter hastily nods, and Pryce opens the door, peeking around the corner before stepping into the room. “Roman? You have a visitor.”

Pryce then looks at Peter and motions for him to come in, and Peter does so cautiously. When he turns the corner, he sees Roman laying back on the examination table, his hand resting on his bare belly. Roman looks up to meet Peter’s eyes, his face crumpling almost instantly.

“Peter…” Roman says tearfully.

Peter rushes over to him, holding his body as closely to him as he can. Roman reaches up to clutch onto him, and through his shirt, Peter can feel the moisture of tears on his chest.

“Shh, you’re okay. I got you,” Peter whispers into Roman’s hair.

Roman hiccups, pulling himself away from Peter so he can wipe his eyes. “What are you doing here?”

“Pryce called me…said you took a little ride down the stairs this morning,” Peter says with a tiny chuckle.

“But…how…” Roman then shoots a look behind Peter. “Did you fucking break into my personnel file??”

A smarmy grin stretches across Pryce’s face. “It was lovely to see you again, Peter,” he quips as he opens the door and quickly walks out, leaving Peter and Roman alone.

At Roman’s baffled expression, Peter bursts into laughter. Roman lets out a little laugh himself, shaking his head incredulously.

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say ‘ol Pryce was worried about you,” Peter says, running his fingers through Roman’s hair.

“That’s a fucking shocker…” Roman sighs.

Peter sits down on the edge of the examination table, caressing the inside of Roman’s thigh.

“So… You wanna tell me what happened?” he asks.

Roman’s smile immediately dissolves, twisting into a grimace of humiliation. He picks at the hem of his undershirt, using it as a distraction from the conversation. Feeling Peter’s gaze linger on him, he only offers a quick head shake in response to the question he was asked.

“Hey,” Peter says, giving Roman’s knee a tiny squeeze. “It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not fucking okay,” Roman spits, still avoiding Peter’s eyes. “You know what week this is? Lucky thirteen.”

Peter feels his stomach flip and drop, like he’s just gone down the steep hill of a roller coaster. He hadn’t even considered that piece of the puzzle. The possibility of losing another baby was gut-wrenching enough, but to lose it at thirteen weeks, just like Nadia, was...unimaginable.

“I’m sorry, honey, I… I didn’t realize.” Peter sighs. “But the baby’s fine. Pryce made sure of it.”

“The baby’s fine, _now_. Nadia was fine, too. Until she wasn’t,” Roman mutters. “We could go home tonight, thinking everything’s okay, and then…”

“Roman,” Peter says, giving Roman’s hand a tight squeeze. “That’s not gonna happen.”

“How do you know that?” Roman asks sharply. “You _can’t_ know that, for sure.”

“Do you remember what I told you before?” Peter’s gaze is intense and demands attention, but is graciously empathetic. “When you first told me you were pregnant and you were all worried about having another miscarriage, what did I say to you?”

Roman blinks a few times, his eyes beginning to well up again, as he stares down at the bulge of his stomach. “You said… this time was different. That it was right.”

“Exactly. And you agreed with me, didn’t you?”

“Yeah, but—”

“No buts, Roman… No buts,” Peter says, gently taking hold of Roman’s chin so he can look into those worried green eyes. “This baby is gonna be different; I felt it then, and I still feel it now. I know you’re scared, I get it… And I know losing Nadia fucking destroyed any ounce of faith you may have had in this piece of shit world, but I’m begging you…if you can dig up even the slightest inkling of it, put it in me and what I said to you. Put it in _this_ child.”

Fat crocodile tears now roll down Roman’s cheeks, and Peter scoots closer, pulling him into his arms. He holds Roman tightly until his sobs seem to quiet. Eventually, Roman pulls himself away from Peter, wiping his face and flopping back onto the exam table with a heavy, tearful sigh.

“It was stupid… It was so fucking stupid! Such a goddamn clumsy idiot…” he whispers.

“It was an _accident_ , Roman. Accidents happen, it’s not the end of the world,” Peter says.

“Yeah, but it fucking _could’ve_ been. I mean, if I…if I hit just a little bit harder or landed a different way…it’d all be over. Again.”

Peter leans forward, taking Roman’s face in his hands and hitting him with a stern look.

“But it’s _not_ over,” Peter says. He lays a hand firmly over Roman’s belly, his thumb gently stroking the swollen skin. “You know what’s in there? Our baby…our strong, healthy, perfect baby. And that’s not gonna change. You got me?”

Roman’s glistening eyes dance all over Peter’s face, as if searching for a reason to not believe his words. But the cloud of doubt quickly passes as a smile lights up his cheeks.

“I got you.”

Out of the corner of Peter’s eyes, something on the tile floor suddenly reflects the brightness of the florescent lights above them. Peter jerks his head toward the ground, squinting to make out whatever is projecting the brilliant shine.

He feels his heart thud heavily against his ribcage when he realizes the glare is coming from the glossy photos of an ultrasound exam.

Shooting forward from his seat on the exam table, he makes a mad grab for the photo set, pinching them gingerly between his fingers.

“What’s this?” he asks, quickly flashing the group of four photos at Roman. “Is it…?”

Roman carefully sits up, resting his chin on Peter’s shoulder as he joins him in mulling over the photos. “Oh, yeah… Pryce took some pictures for us.”

“Wow…” Peter breathes, tracing a finger around the baby’s shape in one of the photos. “That’s _our_ baby? It’s already so much bigger than it was the last time!”

“Yeah,” Roman says quietly. “He is.”

Peter’s head slowly turns to look at Roman, his brow smooshed in confusion. When Roman offers him a shy grin and a confirming nod, Peter’s eyes grow wider than tea cup saucers.

“Are you serious?” Peter whispers.

“Yeah,” Roman answers, running a soft finger over the photograph in Peter’s hand. “We’re having a little boy.”

Peter throws a hand over his mouth, stifling the sob that suddenly threatens to erupt from his lungs. Tears spring to his eyes instantly in a state of unbridled elation that Roman has never seen before. He wraps an arm through Peter’s and hugs it tightly as Peter quickly wipes the moisture from his eyes, flushed with embarrassment.

“Sorry,” Peter sniffs.

“Sorry for what?” Roman laughs.

“Nothing,” Peter smiles, shaking his head. He clears his throat with a watery cough. “I have a son…”

“You have a son,” Roman repeats. “Looks like your dream’s coming true after all.”

~*~*~*~

A few minutes later, Peter is gathering up Roman’s discarded suit vest and jacket, as Roman stands up to rebutton his shirt.

“I _am_ a little pissed off, though,” Peter says absently.

Roman’s fingers stop mid-button as he looks over at Peter.

“About…?” Roman inquires.

“You’ve had, what… _two_ ultrasounds already with this kid, and I haven’t got to be there for either of them,” Peter smirks.

Roman bites his lip. “Oooh…sorry. Guess it’s good we got a check-up with Destiny next week.”

“Damn right, it is,” Peter barks, striding over to Roman. “I wanna see my boy.”

Roman finishes with the buttons and quickly tucks his shirt into his pants, taking his jacket from Peter and slinging it over his arm.

“You ready?” Peter asks. Roman quietly nods and heads toward the door after Peter ushers him to go ahead.

They leave the exam room to find Pryce loitering in the hallway a couple of doors down. When he’s spotted, Pryce makes his way over to them, the worried crease of his brow solidifying in poised professionalism.

“Is everything alright, gentlemen?” he asks.

“Yeah. Yeah, we’re good,” Roman answers. “I, uh…think I’m gonna take a day.”

Pryce nods, understanding. “A wise decision. You’re still at a critical juncture in your pregnancy, and after today’s distress, I feel it best that you not be on your feet.”

“Smart man,” Peter points at Pryce with sincerity, earning a lighthearted eyeroll from Roman.

A tight smile pinches Pryce’s lips. “We have a handle on matters here. You just rest.”

Roman curtly nods before extending his hand to Pryce. Though taken aback by the gesture, Pryce grabs Roman’s hand and shakes it as if they’ve just settled a surmountable business deal.

“Thank you,” Roman says sincerely. “For everything.”

When the shake breaks, Peter then thrusts his hand forward as well.

“That goes double for me,” he says, his face serious.

Pryce gives them a warm smile, something Roman thinks he’s never once seen in his life until today, and firmly takes Peter’s hand.

“Of course,” Pryce says. “Congratulations on your…upcoming bundle.”

Both boys grin bashfully and mutter a “thank you” as Peter puts an arm around Roman’s waist and leads him past Pryce toward the elevator, finally putting this whole mess of a day behind them.

~*~*~*~

When they make it home, Roman wastes no time kicking off his shoes before heading upstairs. All he wants to do is take a scalding hot shower, to wash and scrub away every speck of his fear and worry. As he climbs the stairs, he feels Peter slip an arm around his torso and walk with him, their footsteps in perfect cadence with one another.

“Want me to start a shower for you?” Peter asks. It never ceased to amaze Roman how Peter could just read his mind sometimes.

“Only if you plan to join me,” Roman replies coyly.

Peter moans against Roman’s shoulder. “You know I’d love nothing more than to get dirty in the shower with you, but unfortunately…three tire rotations, a valve change, and the shit engine of a Durango awaits.”

“You could rotate _my_ tires, you know.”

“Oh, you temptress…”

Once they’re on the second floor, they go straight to the bedroom. Roman flops down on the bed, letting himself sink into the memory foam mattress, the sore ache of his back eased almost immediately. Peter comes to sit on the edge of the bed and leans over Roman, an unmistakable twinge of concern hiding behind the mask of his smile.

“I’m okay, Peter,” Roman sighs.

“Are you?” Peter asks.

Roman sits up on the bed and grabs Peter’s neck, pulling him in with a sensual kiss.

“I was okay the second you walked through that door,” Roman says. “Thank you…for being there. I’m sorry you had to get dragged out of work to deal with my neurotic ass, but…”

“Where else would I be?” Peter whispers, pressing his forehead against Roman’s.

They both close their eyes, enjoying the silent serenity of this moment together, knowing full well they could be facing a different situation entirely.

Peter lets out a heavy sigh. “You want me to start that shower for you?”

“Nah,” Roman shrugs. “I think I might just…chill here for a while.”

“Okay…” Peter tries to stand up, but Roman’s hand is latched onto his and he tries in vain to pull him back down onto the bed.

“Don’t make me beg,” Roman purrs.

Peter lets out a tortured groan, wanting so badly to give a fat middle finger to Dwight and the whole damn shop and jump Roman’s bones right here and now. But he committed himself to this job, and he was going to go back to work like a big, responsible adult.

If Roman had his way, Peter wouldn’t work at all and just be the live-in fiancé he got to take care of and spoil with his Godfrey money. But Peter was prideful, and he sure as shit wasn’t a freeloader. Besides, he was a man; a man about to become a father. And a man always provided for his child.

“I _want_ to, babe, but…” Peter whines.

Roman releases his grip on Peter’s hand. “I know, I know…” he playfully pouts.

“I’ll make it up to you tonight, how about that?”

“I’m gonna hold you to it, so...better make good.”

Peter leans over and gives Roman a quick kiss on the lips. “Are you sure you’re gonna be alright?”

“ _Yes_ , Peter.”

“I mean, it’s almost lunch time. I can make you something to eat, or put tea on or—”

“I’m _fine_ ,” Roman exasperates. “Now, go. Your Durango needs you.”

Peter’s eyes narrow skeptically for a second, but eventually he just sighs.

“Okay. Back to the grind.” He kisses Roman’s forehead. “Love you.”

“Love you, too,” Roman replies.

Peter lowers his head down to Roman’s stomach, speaking right into his belly button. “Be good, kid.”

He stands up and turns to leave, and Roman watches his back with bated breath as he walks out of the room.

He listens intently to the sound of Peter’s boots clomping down the stairs, soon followed by the heavy thud of the front door closing. When the faint roar of Peter’s truck engine echoes from the driveway, something inside Roman breaks apart and spills out of him with abandon.

A raging scream rips from his throat as he blindly swings at the lamp on his bedside table, just needing to hit something, anything. The lamp lands hard on the wood floor, the lightbulb loudly shattering into a dozen pieces, and he finds a strange, calming satisfaction in it.

He could only imagine what all he’d destroy in this house had he lost this baby as well.

But, miraculously…he hadn’t. The irony wasn’t lost on him, either. Roman managed to fall down an entire flight of concrete steps, and the baby came out of it unscathed. Yet, all Nadia did was _exist_ , and she was lost without reason.

And though just thinking about it made his heart hurt immeasurably, in no way was his gratitude diminished. This baby – his son – was unharmed and perfectly healthy. Already, he was showing the strength and fortitude of his father.

He would grow up to be like Peter, and Roman couldn’t have prayed for anything better.

Right now, his body begged him to sleep, but he couldn’t settle his mind. He felt almost afraid to close his eyes, as if he’ll later open them and find the happy ending of this little mishap replaced by his worst nightmare. He had to stay awake and revel in his immense relief just a little while longer.

Gently rubbing a hand across his belly, Roman sniffs the tears out his eyes and lays back against the headboard. He looks down at his naval with a sigh, addressing the baby directly.

“Hey, in there… It’s okay,” he soothes. “We’re okay.”


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, my sweet God, you guys... I am SO SORRY for taking so long. I just started a second job and it is absolutely kicking my ass. Anyway, since you had to wait for this chapter so long, I hope you don't hate it. THANK YOU FOR YOUR PATIENCE, SERIOUSLY <3

“Peter, it’s gonna be fine. Just relax…” Roman says, for what must’ve been at least the third time, from the passenger seat.

With a sigh, Peter’s eyes shift away from the road in front of him to meet Roman with a look of exasperation. “I _know._ I know it’ll be fine, no matter what, I just…” He trails off, trying to find the words for his hesitancy about the day ahead.

It was Thanksgiving morning, and they were on their way to Lynda’s for dinner. She’d returned to Hemlock Grove shortly after Peter did, and he knew it was because she would’ve just worried herself to death over him and Roman if she stayed in Louisiana. She’d been badgering Peter for weeks about having him and Roman over, and Peter has done his best trying to ward her off.

It was nothing personal, of course. But he and Roman were being continuously cautious regarding the pregnancy, agreeing to keep it quiet until after Roman had reached at least 12 weeks. And since he was now in the middle of week 14, they had no excuse to hide it anymore.

The only thing Peter hadn’t worked out was how to actually _tell_ her.

Roman chuckles next to him. “It’s not like we can keep it a secret forever. Not with me looking like _this_ ,” Roman smooths a hand over his swollen belly.

Peter offers a tiny smirk as he grips the steering wheel a little tighter, turning to stare straight ahead. Roman feels a sudden, uneasy twinge somewhere deep in his gut. “I thought you were excited to tell your mom about the baby.”

The fearful lilt of Roman’s voice makes Peter tear his eyes away from the road. “I am, I just… I’m nervous,” he mutters. “Aren’t you nervous? At least a little bit?”

“I mean, I guess…” Roman thinks for a moment before he quietly asks, “Do you think she’ll be upset?”

“I don’t know,” Peter sighs with a shrug. “I mean, we’re barely 18 and most parents aren’t thrilled about their teenagers having babies.”

“No, I mean… Do you think she’ll be upset that you’re having a baby…with _me_?”

Peter glances over at the worry dancing all over Roman’s face and something tugs painfully at his heart. He reaches over into Roman’s lap, resting a firm hand on his thigh.

“No,” he assures Roman. “No, she thinks you’re great. And she knows how much I love you. She would never try to change my mind or get in the way of that.”

“Not like Olivia,” Roman scoffs, his eyes going dark at the mere utterance of his mother’s name.

“Not even close,” Peter agrees. “What we feel for each other…she can feel it, too. And she understands it, that what’s meant to be will be. I’m yours, and you’re mine…and no force in this godforsaken universe can break that.”

With a hard blush rushing to his cheeks, Roman smiles warmly at his fiancé. “I think you just wrote your wedding vows.”

“Speaking of…” Peter says flatly. “Whatever ideas she throws out there for the wedding, just nod and agree and try to get her focused on something else. I can’t deal with ‘Lynda the wedding planner’ today.”

“I told you we don’t have to have a big wedding in the first place,” Roman sighs. “We can just go to the courthouse, get hitched on the front steps.”

“Roman, no. We’re not gonna do that,” Peter interjects.

“Why not? It would be easier.”

“But it’s not what you want; I know it isn’t,” Peter says, making Roman fall silent.

Roman hated to admit it, but Peter was right. Though he’d never really given marriage much thought before, he’d always imagined that if he were to marry, Olivia would throw an elaborate, ridiculously expensive soiree to indulge herself and the rest of the town rather than Roman and his betrothed. Keeping up appearances had always been a priority to his mother, more so than he and his sister ever were.

And although she was out of the picture and would have no influence over their nuptials whatsoever, Roman still envisioned that lavish ceremony with Peter by his side. He supposed he couldn’t truly be blamed, as he’d been spoiled by the upper-crust lifestyle his name has fed him since birth.

But wanting an opulent wedding had nothing to do with impressing anyone or showing off his wealth. All he wanted was one night of magic with the man he loved, a man who deserved to be treated like the king Roman saw him as.

“I don’t want a huge wedding,” Roman protested. “Classy? Yes. Elegant? Sure. Extravagant? No.”

“Roman Godfrey, _extravagant_? Perish the thought,” Peter snorts.

“Shut up,” Roman smiles. “I mean, even if we just go to the courthouse, we can still have a nice reception somewhere. We’ll both get a little of what we want. That’s called ‘compromise’, Peter…which I hear is important to a marriage, but what the hell do I know?”

At the approaching red light, Peter slides to a stop, his fingers rhythmically tapping the steering wheel to no music.

“Well, if ‘class’ and ‘elegance’ is what you’re after, a courthouse wedding will be neither. It’s not even a wedding, really… It’s like you’re agreeing to be business partners instead of spouses.”

“To have and to hold in profit shares and mergers…’til death do us part?” Roman offers.

“Something like that,” Peter says. “The courthouse is for shotgun weddings, anyway.”

At this, Roman bursts into laughter, practically doubling over in the passenger seat. Peter glances between him and the road ahead, face void of everything but complete confusion. It takes Roman at least thirty seconds to gather himself, the giggles slowly dying off as he leans back in the seat and looks at Peter, humored.

 _“Really?”_ Roman quips, rubbing a hand around his stomach. “Let’s ask your _son_ if this is a shotgun wedding!”

“Hey!” Peter stammers, pointing toward Roman’s middle. “I proposed _before_ that happened!”

“That you know of,” Roman smirks.

Peter waves dismissively with a grunt before grabbing onto Roman’s hand.

“I don’t know…” he ponders. “I think I’d rather wait for you at an alter, get to watch you walk down the aisle and cry like a sappy groom at the sight of you.” He brings Roman’s knuckles to his lips, noticing how his hand suddenly stiffens.

“It’ll look pretty fucking sad, walking down an aisle alone,” Roman mutters. “I can give myself away, I guess.”

“Shit…” he mumbles, Roman’s hand falling from his. “Roman, I—”

“Peter, it’s… It’s okay,” Roman tries to shrug it off, though the pain is evident in his tone. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Yes, it does matter. It’s your wedding day, your family should be there.”

A moment of eerie silence passes between them as Roman stares straight ahead, unblinking, out the windshield. “What family?” he says under his breath, almost quietly enough for Peter not to hear him.

But Peter does hear him, and it makes part of his heart crumble away. It doesn’t take him but a second to know that it’s time to drop the subject. He felt like an insensitive idiot for what he’d said, especially since that thought never even crossed his mind. Roman had a point; who would be there to celebrate with him?

He knew the only one he’d truly want to be there is Shelley, and that whole situation was enough of a clusterfuck already. Perhaps he could find a way to make it happen. He could be fairly sneaky when he wanted to be, and all it would take was some clever planning and a solid cover story. Olivia would be none the wiser.

Not only would it make Roman incredibly happy, but Peter would love to see Shelley again. He hates that she has to be stuck in that mausoleum of a house with a snake like Olivia. It was hard telling the kind of torment she had to endure every day. Once he figured out how to get her to their wedding, maybe he could find a way to get her out of Olivia’s grasp as well. 

It was something to think about, at least.

Roman needn’t worry if Lynda wanted them together or not, as she was the one who convinced him to come back in the first place. But when it came to the fact that she was about to be the grandmother of a Godfrey’s child, Peter had no idea how she would really react.

She didn’t say much when he spilled the beans about Nadia. Then again, that may have been due to an outpouring of grief that she didn’t want to make worse. Peter hopes that wasn’t the case, but if that hope is wrong, this entire day will just be another thing added to the long list of painful blows they’ve had to take this year.

Before he knows it, they’re rounding the corner of Lynda’s driveway and Peter coasts it slowly. They pull up next to the trailer and Peter kills the engine, throwing his back into the driver’s seat with a huff. Beside him, Roman is still staring out the windshield in brooding silence. Peter clears his throat and it makes Roman’s body jump in surprise. He glances at Peter, who gives him a sheepish smile.

“So… We’re here,” Peter mumbles.

Roman’s rock-hard expression cracks with amusement. “I can see that…”

“Yeah…” Peter runs a rough hand through his hair, his eyes darting around the trailer yard uneasily.

Roman sighs, placing a firm hand on Peter’s knee. “Peter…”

“Look, I don’t know what’s gonna happen in there, alright?” Peter groans. “I mean…I think we’ll probably be safe. She didn’t completely lose her shit the first time.”

Roman’s hand carefully slides from Peter’s leg. “You mean…about Nadia?” he asks quietly.

“Yeah,” Peter whispers. “I was gonna tell you…at least warn you that she knows.”

“She should know, Peter. She’s your mother and…she should know about her granddaughter,” Roman replies, fighting the sadness in his voice. “So…she didn’t freak out?”

Peter shakes his head. “No… She didn’t. She wasn’t mad or…even surprised, really.”

About that time, the front door of the trailer swings open and Lynda pokes her head outside, enthusiastically waving at the station wagon. With a chuckle, Roman clasps onto Peter’s hand.

“Well…we should probably get in there. Face the music,” Roman smirks.

“Yeah,” Peter agrees.

Roman gives Peter’s hand a tight little squeeze. “We’re in this together, right?”

Peter presses his forehead against Roman’s with a smile. “Always.”

Without any further hesitation, Peter pops open the door of the station wagon and hops out, jogging around to the other side to open Roman’s door. Before stepping foot outside, Roman leans down to retrieve the glass dish of what was sure to be a piss-poor excuse for a green bean casserole from the floorboard.

Peter playfully slaps him away, grabbing the dish himself and holding it above his shoulder like a proud restaurant waiter. Then, he gallantly holds out his other hand and Roman takes it as if he’s being led out of a horse-drawn carriage to a grand ball.

Hand in hand, the two of them begin to walk up the drive when Lynda jumps out of the trailer and rushes across the yard to meet them.

“Hey, guys! Happy Thanksgiving!” Lynda squeals, throwing her arms around Peter.

“Hey, Ma…” Peter says, wrapping his mother in a tight embrace.

Peter looks past her toward the trailer door, anticipating his cousin to come bounding out any second, but the door just swings aimlessly from its hinges.

“Where’s Dee? Isn’t she here yet?” Peter asks.

“Oh, you know Destiny. She’s still sleeping off her annual Thanksgiving Eve bender,” Lynda laughs. “We’ll be lucky if she’s here by noon.”

She places a quick kiss on Peter’s temple before releasing him and turning to Roman.

“Happy Thanksgiving,” Roman offers with a sheepish nod.

She lifts her arms up to him. “Oh, Roman, honey, I feel like it’s been years since I—”

Suddenly, she stops, her arms frozen in mid-hug, and Roman watches nervously as her eyes dart up and down the length of his body. Her warm smile slowly dissolves as she searches him, her brow creasing in confusion for a second before her gaze rests on his stomach. Roman feels the breath stall in his lungs, the nauseous feeling he’s grown so used to once again pooling in his gut.

He glances over at Peter, who helplessly stands by with a face as white as paper.

Lynda’s eyes widen and snap up to meet Roman’s confused expression, a tiny whisper of a gasp escaping her lips.

“Oh, my God…”

Roman and Peter exchange anxious glances as Lynda’s hands raise to cup her mouth in surprise.

“Oh, my GOD!” Lynda cries, grabbing Roman by the shoulders and pulling him into a constrictive embrace. “Oh, you sweet, sweet boy!”

Roman’s arms come down to wrap around Lynda, his fearful eyes gouging Peter for an explanation. But all Peter could do was shrug and watch the spectacle before him in bewilderment. In all the scenarios that had played out in his head, Peter never imagined anything quite like this.

But then again, how can he honestly be surprised? He knows he can’t ever really hide anything from Lynda.  

When Lynda finally releases Roman from her unexpectedly tight hold, she hastily swipes the tears away from her flushed face. Her eyes land on Roman’s middle again, and without a second of apprehension, she presses her palm gently into his belly. Carefully, her hand rides the curve of his bump, her brows shooting up in shock as she whips her head toward Peter.

“When were you going to tell me??” she cries before turning back to Roman with an excited, bordering on delirious, smile.

“Uh…I…well, we—”

“You’re showing,” Lynda whispers to Roman with wonder.

The fear bubbling in Roman’s stomach is quickly soothed as he sees the look of complete elation in Lynda’s face. Roman watches as Lynda continues to rub the contours of his growing tummy. He’d purposely worn a loose-fitting shirt so his new girth wouldn’t be so noticeable, but he hadn’t anticipated on Lynda taking such a hands-on approach. Either way, he finds himself reveling in the affection behind her touch.

He shoots an expectant glance at Peter, who remains in a seemingly permanent state of shock. When he offers no answers of his own, Roman takes it upon himself to fill Lynda in.

“We wanted to tell you sooner, but…we thought it’d be best to wait until I got to my second trimester,” Roman explains.

Lynda’s joyful expression turns sullen almost instantly, and Roman feels a painful twinge tear through his heart.

“Oh…right,” Lynda sighs. “That was probably wise.”

Roman feels a body pop up beside him, and an arm wrapping around his waist. Peter clears his throat loudly, which makes both Roman and Lynda jump with a slight startle.

“W-we really did want to tell you, Mom. Just…we thought—”

“No! No, I… I get it, baby. I get it,” Lynda says solemnly.

The sudden sadness that passes between the three of them is heavy enough to weigh on Roman’s heart. His eyes dart down to the ground, emotion beginning to roll like a fire in his chest. The silence is near deafening when Lynda claps her hands together, breaking both Peter and Roman out the pool of grief that’s starting to sink them.

“Well, come in! Come in!” Lynda squeals, taking the casserole dish from Peter’s hands and turning to lead both boys into the trailer. “Come in and tell me all about my grandbaby!”

They can hear her excitedly mumbling under her breath as they follow her. “Grandbaby… Oh, my God, I’m a grandma!”

As they saunter into the trailer, the overwhelming aromas of roasting turkey, rosemary stuffing, and baking rolls smacks them in the face, making Peter’s mouth begin to water. His stomach gurgles and flips with hunger, as if he hadn’t eaten for a month.

Lynda hustles into the kitchen, sits the casserole on counter, and yanks open the oven door, taking a quick peek inside before grabbing her mitts off the counter and slipping them on. Carefully, she grabs onto the wire rack of the oven and pulls it forward, the giant foil-covered turkey wobbling a bit with the movement.  

Peter lets the smell hook into his nostrils and drag him to the kitchen. He comes to stand behind Lynda, watching over her shoulder as she peels the foil away from the bird, revealing the glistening meat underneath.

“Aw, shit, Ma. You’ve outdone yourself,” Peter swoons, squeezing his mother’s shoulders. “That is a gorgeous bird.”

Lynda beams with pride at the compliment, replacing the foil and sliding the oven rack back into place. She removes a pan of pillowy, golden-brown dinner rolls from the bottom of the oven and sits it on a burner. Closing the oven door, she takes off her mitts and lightly stirs a pot of boiling potatoes.

“Well, nothing’s too good for my baby…” she says as she turns and hurries back into the living room. “And my _baby’s_ baby! Roman, honey, sit down! Sit down right there, on the couch.”

As Lynda comes bustling toward him, Roman hastily lowers himself onto the sofa, his hands cradling his stomach to keep balanced. Lynda sits down next to him, taking his hand in hers and smiling at him warmly.

“So, how are you feeling? Has this little one been giving you much trouble?”

Roman blushes at the attention and chuckles nervously as he carefully rubs the side of his stomach. “Uh, no…not really. I had morning sickness for a while. That was pretty rough.”

Peter comes out of the kitchen to join Roman and Lynda in the living room. He flops down heavily in the armchair, letting his body relax into the cushions as he watches how easily they interact with each other.

Lynda finally knew the truth and she was okay with it. More than that, she was _happy_ , and Peter could hardly believe it. Not that he expected her to throw a shit fit and disown him like Olivia had done to Roman, but he certainly hadn’t expected such unhinged excitement.

He and Roman were still quite young and most parents were horrified at the idea of their teenagers becoming parents themselves. Either way, Peter was more than pleased with this outcome. Anything was better than what Olivia had done.

“You know, I was sick for months when I was pregnant with Peter,” Lynda says. “The only thing that helped? Taking a few bites out of a stick of butter.”

Roman’s face crinkles into a grimace. “…and eating it?”

“Yeah! I don’t know what it was, but it soothed my stomach,” Lynda shrugs. “Peter’s cholesterol is probably through the fucking roof, but…”

“Well, that’s good!” Peter quips sarcastically.

Roman shifts his weight on the sofa. “I haven’t gotten sick for a week or so… I think I’m over the hump.”

“Good! Now you can focus on getting some meat on those bones!” Lynda laughs.

“Oh, he’s already working on that,” Peter snorts. “Last night, he had two ham sandwiches and tore through half a package of Chips Ahoy.”

Roman shoots a glare at Peter, and Lynda is quick to come to his defense. “He’s growing a _human being,_ Peter; He can eat whatever he wants.”

“Yeah!” Roman sniffs haughtily as Peter just shakes his head with a snicker.

“So, when are you due?” Lynda asks.

Roman squints up at the ceiling, trying to remember the projected due date he and Destiny had discussed when he first found out he was pregnant. “Uh, the middle of May, I think. Like the 17th or something.”

Lynda claps her hands giddily. “Ooh, a spring baby! That’s good luck, you know. So, that means you’ll probably want to have a baby shower in March or so… Oh, and then the wedding! Have you set a date yet? Spring weddings are always so nice. Maybe you could have a baby shower/wedding. That’s not really a thing, is it? I mean—”

As Lynda rattles on, completely absorbed in her own train of thought, Roman looks over at Peter with face that’s slowly draining of color. His eyes widen with a plea for help.

Peter then remembers the surprise her brought for the grandma-to-be in his back pocket, provided their news was well-received.

“Hey, Ma? Mom!” Peter coughs, breaking through Lynda’s chatter. He stands up and pulls the most recent ultrasound photo from the back pocket of his jeans and holds it out to her. “Would you like to see your grandson?”

Lynda’s word stall in her throat with a gasp. “Grandson?” she breathes. “Are you serious?”

Peter nods with a big smile. Lynda gingerly takes the photo from Peter and her eyes practically shine as she takes in her first glimpse of her grandchild. She’s smiling so hard that, for a second, Peter thinks her cheeks might split open.

“Ohhh… Would you look at him?” Lynda says with a teary voice. Peter and Roman share a smile, and Peter reaches over to grab onto Roman’s hand. Lynda carefully studies the photograph, her brow scrunches slightly. “He looks big, how recent is this?”

Peter glances anxiously at Roman, who only offers a tiny shrug. _Might as well tell her about that, too. Why not?_

“Uh, last week, actually…” Peter starts.

“Yeah, I kinda…took a bit of a fall at work,” Roman says.

Lynda’s head snaps up, her smile replaced with a worried frown as she places a gentle hand on Roman’s arm.

“A fall? What happened?” she asks, alarmed.

“I, uh, was going down the stairs and I slipped and…rode down them,” Roman says quietly.

Lynda gasps. “Are you alright??”

“Yeah! Yeah, I’m fine!” Roman assures her. “Ya know, I’m uncoordinated as hell; I’m all leg.”

With a sigh, Lynda can’t help but smile at Roman’s lame joke, which eases him a bit.

“So, Dr. Pryce gave him an ultrasound to make sure the baby was okay, and that he didn’t have any bad internal shit going on,” Peter explains. “So, the good news is he and the baby are perfectly fine.”

Lynda smiles, giving Roman’s arm a little squeeze as her eyes drift back down to the photo. “Well, thank goodness.”

“We were lucky,” Roman nods. “It could’ve been a lot worse. If I’d hit just a little bit harder, I…” He trails off, shame beginning to burn in his cheeks. Why would he go there? Why here? Why now? He sure as hell wishes he hadn’t, but it’s like he just can’t help it.

Any joy or excitement he feels over the milestones of this pregnancy is always eclipsed by his grief for Nadia. He constantly worries that the baby inside him can sense this torment and is affected by it, as if he feels less important or not as loved.

Roman knew how ridiculous and illogical that sounded, but the idea still broke his heart. He already loved his son more than anything in this world, and he would move Heaven and Earth to prove it.

He startles slightly when he feels Peter’s fingers gently graze the top of his head. Roman glances up at him, an apology shining tearfully in his eyes, and Peter’s lips crack with a painfully sad smile. _It’s okay. You don’t ever have to be sorry._

Lynda clears her throat. “Well, I am just…over the moon, boys. Really.” Her gaze travels over the ultrasound photo for what must’ve been the fifteenth time and her whole face appears to melt with happiness.

Both boys seem to deflate in their relief. “That means a lot to us. I mean…We weren’t sure how you’d react,” Peter admits. “I know we’re just kids…-”

Lynda’s eyes shoot up to look at her son, then carefully dart between him and Roman, making sure she has both boys’ attention before she speaks. “You and I both know this baby is not the result of teenage lust or stupid drunken judgment,” she says seriously, turning the photo so both boys can see it. “ _This_ baby? He’s coming for a reason.”

Unconsciously, Roman’s hand comes to encircle his belly, the impact of Lynda’s words sending a chill up his spine. He knew there was a reason they were having this baby, that their conceiving wasn’t just “by chance”. Their son was the living, breathing embodiment of his and Peter’s connected souls, of their irrevocable love for one another.

Nadia was too, and that somehow made Lynda’s statement all the more powerful.

He feels fingers curl around his other hand and shoots his head up to Peter, who is looking down at him with such admiration in his eyes, it makes goosebumps rise over Roman’s flesh.

“Oh, shit!” Lynda suddenly cries, startling Roman and Peter out of their moment. “My potatoes!” She jumps up from the couch and rushes into the kitchen, the ultrasound photo still clutched in her hand.

Peter comes to take his mother’s place next to Roman on the couch, sliding an arm around Roman’s shoulders and placing a hand on the crown of Roman’s stomach.

“She’s right, you know,” Peter says. “There’s a reason he’s coming.”

Roman turns to him with a tiny smile. “Yeah. I’ve always known.”

Just as Peter begins to lean into Roman’s lips, Lynda pops around the corner.

“Well!” she exasperates, wiping the sweat from her brow. “I think I saved them. Now I just gotta mash ‘em up and set the table and we should be ready to eat.”

Peter shoves himself up from the couch, then helps Roman stand when he appears to struggle with the extra weight around his middle. As they make their way to her, Lynda notices that she’s still holding the photo and tries to hand it back to Peter, but he holds up his palm with a slight nod.

“That’s _yours_ , Grandma”

Lynda holds the photo to her chest with a hard swallow, trying and failing to fight off the tears that form in her eyes. She turns to the refrigerator and tacks the photo in place with a magnet at the very top of the door. She stands back and looks at the photo for a couple of seconds more, letting out a dreamy sigh before walking over to the stove to tend to the pot of still boiling potatoes.

Peter glances at Roman and they share a silent chuckle as they start fishing out silverware from the cabinets. Peter just couldn’t wrap his head around what was happening. For the past week, he’d been worried sick over telling Lynda about the baby, scaring himself into believing that she’d be upset, or at the very least, a bit disappointed.

But she was absolutely _ecstatic_ , and he remembered what he’d told Roman in the car on the way over. She could see and feel what he and Roman had found in one another, truly believing they were meant to be.

And, by extension, this baby is meant to be, too.

Peter feels all of the tension he’s been carrying in his muscles finally release and melt away, his relief making him feel almost giddy.

He and Roman carefully set the table with the antique china plates that were passed down from Lynda’s grandmother, the ones they were only permitted to use on holidays and special occasions. These dishes were probably the most valuable thing Lynda owned, and once vowed to throw herself off a bridge if anything ever happened to them. And Peter believed her.

Lynda could be heard grunting and cursing under her breath in the kitchen as she ground the pot of potatoes into a paste with her masher. Peter laid out the forks and knives as Roman painstakingly tried folding their paper napkins into “fancy” triangles, eventually shrugging with annoyance and placing one over each plate. 

Hustling around the corner, Lynda sets the pot of mashed potatoes onto the dining room table with a huff.

“Good enough,” she says, waving her hand in dismissal and disappearing into the kitchen once more.

The boys follow after her and barely make it into the doorway when Lynda turns and thrusts a set of drinking glasses into Peter’s hands. “Put ice in these, would you, hon?” she asks.

Peter does as he’s asked without a moment’s hesitation, and Roman holds his hands out, ready to be given his own task, but Lynda waggles her finger at him.

“Oh, no. You don’t have to do anything, sweetie, you just go sit yourself down at that table and relax,” she says, taking Roman’s arm and leading him back into the dining room.

Roman looks at Peter to come to his defense, but Peter just smiles wryly and shrugs his shoulders. Roman’s face twists into a scowl as he’s dragged out of the kitchen and Peter can’t help but laugh. It was sort of refreshing to see someone else being “mothered to death” for a change; he sure as hell wasn’t going to put a stop to it.

As Peter places an ice-filled glass next to each plate at the table, Lynda comes up behind him with a huge pitcher of fresh tea. She fills the glasses one by one, ordering Peter to fetch this or that from the kitchen. When she sees him come around the corner with the pan of dinner rolls, she suddenly startles.

“Oh! Shit…” she gasps, sitting down the pitcher and taking the rolls from Peter. “We probably need to put your green beans in the oven to warm up a bit. I totally forgot.”

Peter and Roman let out a simultaneous groan of disgust.

“What?” Lynda asks.

“Uh… You know, you probably don’t wanna eat _that_ ,” Peter winces.

“We made it for… _appearances_ , really,” Roman adds.

“Yeah,” Peter agrees. “It’s for show. Just leave it.”

Lynda’s eyes dart between the two of them, her expression ripe with confusion. “O-okay…” she finally says, moving past Peter to go back into the kitchen. “Well, in that case, I guess we’re ready to eat.”

“You want me to grab the turkey for you, Ma?” Peter calls after her.

“Hell no!” Lynda cries. “You think I slaved over that bird for the past 12 hours just so you could waltz in here and set it at my table like some Thanksgiving knight? Not a fucking chance.”  

Peter looks at Roman with wide eyes, holding up his hands in surrender, and Roman lets out a laugh.

“ _‘Not a fucking chance’_ ,” Roman repeats, mimicking Lynda’s tone.

“Well, alrighty then…” Peter says, flopping down in the kitchen chair next to Roman.

About that time, Lynda makes her way around the corner, looking hilariously small behind the giant turkey in the roasting pan she’s steadily transporting from the kitchen.

“Okay…” she says. “Everyone save your applause for the end because I need to concentrate. If I dump this thing in the floor, I will kill myself.”

The boys stifle laughter and watch with laser focus as Lynda slowly, carefully, lowers the glorious turkey onto the middle of the dining room table. Once it’s set, Lynda brings her oven-mitt covered hands up in victory, as Peter and Roman begin to clap with loud “whoops” and hollers. Lynda’s face flushes red and she bows animatedly.

Tearing off her oven mitts, Lynda grabs a carving fork and a large knife from the table and gently slides the fork into the crown of the golden turkey. She’s about to make the first cut, when the front door begins to rattle, suddenly flying open so hard, it bounces off of the wall.

The three of them peer up from the table in surprise to see a disheveled Destiny practically fall through the doorway. She quickly steadies herself by grabbing onto the doorway, nearly dropping the grocery bag of store-bought pies that’s clutched in her hand.

With a groan, Destiny readjusts the oversized pair of sunglasses on her face and stumbles into the living room, kicking the door closed behind her. She lets out an irritated sigh as she notices Lynda, Peter, and Roman staring at her.

“What? I’m _here_ ,” she says defensively before shuffling into the kitchen.

Lynda turns her wrist to take a quick look at her watch.

“12:07,” she says with a smirk. “I told you.”

Then, she begins slicing up the turkey, trying desperately to fight the wave of giggles she feels starting to come on. Watching Lynda try not to laugh only makes Peter and Roman begin to crack up themselves, trying their hardest to be quiet about it

“Oh, kiss my ass, you guys,” Destiny barks from the kitchen, and before they know it, all three of them dissolve into a fit of uncontrollable laughter.

The turkey is seemingly forgotten, as Lynda drops her utensils and crumples into a chair, her cackles coming out of her in hiccups. This only makes Peter and Roman howl even harder, both struggling to catch their breath.

It takes a full five minutes for them all to calm down, each of them red faced and teary-eyed, coughing the rest of their chortles out. Destiny finally comes to join them at the table, making sure her annoyance with them is clear, but no one seems to notice or care.

This day has filled Peter with so much joy, he can hardly stand it. His eyes skirt around the table, the gratitude he feels for his mother and Destiny nearly bursting his heart wide-open. His entire life, these two women have been his confidants, cheerleaders, protectors, _everything_. And if the events of the last year told him anything, it’s that they _always_ would be.

He could never be able to put his love for them into words, so he hopes that in some way he at least _shows_ them, and that they can feel that love every day without a shadow of a doubt.

Then, his gaze falls upon Roman, still trying to stop laughing at Destiny’s chagrined face. Roman Godfrey, the beautiful Upir boy who’d been forbidden to him, but had stolen his heart anyway. He loved him so much, it almost ached to look at him. How Peter managed to find someone so incredible, and keep him after all that had happened, was almost too good to be true.

It physically hurt Peter to think back on the past six months, on all the heartache and bullshit he has carelessly thrown out at Roman’s expense. Roman was the love of his life, and he’d hurt him insurmountably. Peter hadn’t forgiven himself for it, and knew that he never would for as long as he lived.

Yet, by some miracle, Roman had. Even through all the pain and anger, Roman’s devotion never wavered for a second. He had every reason in the world to walk away, to hate Peter for the rest of his life, but his love overpowered everything else.

And here they are now, about to be married and having a child. _Another child_ , Peter quickly adds. His daughter’s memory was never far from his mind.

Around him, everyone begins diving into the food. Destiny has apparently decided to join the conversation, playfully mocking Roman’s laugh with her sunglasses now nestled up in her hair. Lynda slices up more of the turkey and starts dropping slabs of it onto their plates.  

Peter’s happiness warms him from within and, without thinking, his hand drops to rest on the bulge of Roman’s belly. Instinctively placing his hand over Peter’s, Roman turns to him with a smile that lights up his entire face. Peter smiles back, his fingers intertwining with Roman’s over the growing mound that was their future son.

It was Thanksgiving Day, and this year, Peter was beyond thankful for both the family he has and his family that is soon to be.


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, guys! Since being an adult absolutely sucks, I'm probably only going to have time to get one chapter posted a month instead of two. That makes me sad... But! I promise to get them out as soon as possible! Thanks for sticking around.
> 
> P.S. Guess what's back?? Angst. Angst is back.

FIVE WEEKS LATER

It’s the 26th of December, and Roman’s house is still in complete disarray from the previous day’s festivities. Lynda and Destiny had come by early Christmas morning, armed with an arsenal of food and stayed late into the evening. They spent the day lounging around the raging fireplace, listening to Christmas music, munching on homemade treats and talking about anything and everything.

Roman wasn’t used to spending the holidays surrounded by family and cheerfulness, and the mere thought of it normally made his skin crawl. But, this was different; this was _fun_. He wasn’t spending the holidays with his family…or rather, his mother. This was Peter’s family, who embraced him for exactly who (and what) he was, and they loved him without conditions. They were his family now, or they would be officially soon, and it eased Roman’s heart.

If only Shelley could’ve been there, the day would’ve been perfect. In the weeks leading up to Christmas, Roman had decided that enough was enough. He couldn’t let the holiday pass without letting his sister know she was on his mind. He bought her a stunning diamond pendant and, along with it, wrote a five page letter in which he told her everything: about Peter returning to Hemlock Grove, about their engagement, about the new baby that was on the way…and made sure she knew that in his absence, he never stopped thinking of her for even a second.

He didn’t expect his gift to make up for it, but she deserved at least that much.

A few days ago, he sent the gift over by mail to his Uncle Norman, asking him to make sure Shelley got it without suspicion from their mother. Just yesterday, Norman sent a text, assuring him that he would get the gift to her. Roman had always thought Norman to be a man of his word; he just hoped he was right.

Peter, on the other hand, insisted that he not get a single thing for Christmas, as Roman accepting his proposal and carrying his baby was present enough. But Roman knew Peter wouldn’t follow his own advice and get him a gift regardless of whether Roman got him one or not.

And he was proven correct when Lynda and Destiny arrived, and Peter was quick to assist them in hauling a neatly wrapped, oversized box through the front door. They pushed the box to set in front of Roman, who sat on the couch with a scowl for each of them.

“I thought we agreed,” Roman had said. “No gifts.”

With a coy smile, Peter sniffed, “It’s not for you. It’s for the baby.”

Sighing in defeat, Roman tore through the wrapping paper and pulled apart the makeshift box that was made out of smaller cardboard boxes, revealing the most beautiful baby crib he’d ever seen.

“Oh, Peter…” he breathed, his fingers running over the smooth wood of the crib’s gate.

“Do you like it?” Peter asked, coming to wind his arm around the small of Roman’s back.

“Like it? God, it’s…it’s incredible,” Roman sniffed tearfully. “I love it.”

A squeal from Destiny erupted behind them. “Ooh, I knew he’d love it!” she exclaimed, running over to them with an expression as bright and giddy as a school-girl’s. Like Roman, she ran a gentle hand over the crib’s edge, admiring the craftsmanship.

“It’s _mahogany_ ,” she informed Roman matter-o-factly.

Roman’s eyes continued to dance over every inch of the crib, not finding one single knick or scratch. The gloss painted on the wood was so slick, Roman could see their reflections shining off of it. The crib was beautiful, absolutely flawless…and expensive looking.

“Something wrong?” Peter asked suddenly, his brow creased with concern.

Roman shook his head, trying to blink the tears away. “No! No, it’s _perfect_ , it’s just… How could you afford this?”

Peter pulled Roman closer. “Don’t worry about that. It’s Christmas, and the baby needed his first present.”

But Roman couldn’t help but worry about it. He knew all too well how strapped Peter was for cash, and it killed him to think that Peter may have blew the entirety of his savings on their son’s bed.

“And I love it, honey. Really, I do,” Roman stammered. “It’s just… Things are tight for you right now, and you’ve been working your ass off trying to provide for me and the baby and you shouldn’t have to go broke just to—”

Peter cut off Roman’s rambling with a hard kiss on the lips, as if Destiny and his mother weren’t even there. Still, Roman noticed a faint blush rise into his cheeks.

“Relax, Roman. It’s fine,” Peter smiled. “Besides, a couple of Santa’s helpers had my back.”

He then shot a wry grin at Destiny, who turned back to Lynda with a smile of her own. And finally, Roman connected all the dots.

Roman looked from Peter to Destiny, his eyes widening in surprise. “Wait… You all did this?”

Destiny threw her head back with a guffaw and reached up to wrap her arm around Roman’s neck, pulling him into an awkward hug. “Well, yeah! You think we’d let Peter pick something out himself? Look at him, he’s a train wreck.”

Peter sneered at her. “Insults on Christmas, wow.”

“Oh, like there’s some Yule Tide rule that you have to actually be nice to your family instead of just tolerating them? I mean, it’s not _your_ birthday.”

With an eyeroll, Lynda sauntered over to them.

“You two, seriously,” she swatted at Destiny’s arm, smiling at Roman. “We just wanted to do something special for you and the baby, hon. We know it’s…not been the easiest year.”

Immediately, Peter’s heart dove into his stomach, the guilt once again rearing its ugly head. He sometimes wondered if this feeling would ever dissipate, though he felt that it rightfully shouldn’t. Why should he be able to forget what he did, all the pain that he caused?

He felt Roman lightly wrap his fingers around his, and he looked up to see Roman’s expression full of empathy and understanding. He didn’t deserve either of those things, but he felt blessed to have them.

“Well, I… I don’t know what to say,” Roman shook his head. “Thank you…so much.” Then, he stepped away from Peter and over to Lynda, wrapping her in an all-encompassing embrace. Without a heartbeat of hesitation, Lynda’s arms squeezed around Roman in return, as she planted a quick kiss on his temple.

“You’re welcome, baby.”

He grabbed Destiny next, who swayed him all around like she was trying to engage in a bizarre dance, making them both crack up at the absurdity. Finally, she released him, and he fell back into Peter’s arms.

“Merry Christmas,” Peter said.

“Merry Christmas,” Roman replied, resting his head against Peter’s.

The four of them stand together a moment in peaceful silence, the pops and crackles of the fireplace becoming the only source of sound in the room. It is short-lived, as suddenly Destiny clapped her hands together and loudly declared, “Well! I think it’s time for eggnog!”

Lynda looked at her with bewilderment. “It’s 9:30 in the morning, Dee.”

“It’s what Jesus would want,” Destiny shrugged, galloping into the kitchen.

“Well, let’s not do doubles right out of the gate. It’s not New Year’s, for Christ’s sake,” Lynda sighed in defeat as she followed after Destiny. If someone didn’t reign her in early, there’d be no hope of it later.

Peter and Roman stood cemented in place, neither one of them able to take their eyes off of the crib. Finally, it felt as if they were able to truly grasp what it meant for them, how their lives were about to change forever. It was terrifying, but even more so, it was the most wonderful thing either of them could imagine. And they couldn’t wait for their son to arrive and make them a family.

It was the first happy Christmas Roman could ever remember having, and he hated to see it end. But it was a day that he knew would stay with him, and he was thankful for it. And though he thought it paled in comparison to the crib, Roman was especially thankful that he’d went with his gut and gotten Peter a gift after all.

Right now, that gift – a 65-inch flat screen TV – was mounted proudly on the living room wall, its screen a glaring blue that Peter had been trying to get rid of for the last twenty minutes. He stood rigidly, pointing the remote directly at the TV and mashing his thumb over all of the buttons with a chorus of frustrated grunts.

From his place on the couch, Roman glanced up with a chuckle as he flipped another page of the bridal magazine in his lap and absently wrote something down on a notebook next to him. Peter had made him promise to wait until after the holidays to focus on planning the wedding. They’d finally settled on a date – March 16th – which had been a process Roman considered to be more difficult than open heart surgery.

Peter had figured Roman wouldn’t want to go through an entire wedding ceremony and reception whilst seven months pregnant, but Roman thought differently. He wanted them to be married before the baby was born, so there would be no room for debating whether the baby would be a Godfrey or a Rumancek, if it legally made a difference or not. He would do anything to make sure his son never carried the burden of having his name.

Not at all to his surprise, Roman took on the role of the bride, while Peter played the part of your typical groom. All Peter was concerned with was where to be, what time to be there, and on what day; showing up to their wedding would pretty much be the extent of his involvement.

Destiny and Lynda had already stepped up to the plate, all too eager to help Roman sort everything out, which he thanked God for. Just the planning he’d tried to do on his own made him want to blow his brains out.

“Fuckin’ thing…” Peter growls under his breath. “C’mon, you son of a…rrr! Hey, Roman?”

“Hmm?” Roman hums in response without looking up from his notebook.

“I don’t think this fucking TV works. You got a dud.”

Roman stifles a laugh. “It _works_ , honey. You just have to be smarter than the Smart TV.”

At this, Peter turns away from the TV to look at Roman, his eyes narrowed in a scowl.

“You’re an asshole,” Peter states.

“I’m aware,” Roman replies.

With a huff, Peter’s attention returns to the TV, once again thrusting the seemingly useless remote at the screen and mashing a few more buttons.

“I just want…TV! I don’t even need that fancy satellite shit, I’ll take a fucking antenna if it gets me some channels!” Peter grunts. “I mean, the hell is _this_? HDMI? HDMI2? I don’t even know what the fuck that is! Do I have to be some kind of rocket scientist to program a goddamn TV?”

Roman’s focus in an excerpt about making your own “Save the Date” invites is shattered by Peter’s outburst and he rolls his eyes in annoyance before tossing the magazine out of his lap with an aggravated sigh.

“Christ, Peter… You’re gonna break the fucking thing for real in a second, now just give me the—"

It’s as he’s hoisting himself up off of the couch that he feels it. Something pops, like a dozen tiny bubbles in the bottom of his belly. He stops, freezing himself to the spot as the popping then turns into more of a flutter, like a bird’s wing grazing his naval.

Hand flying to his belly, Roman slowly lowers himself back onto the couch. He’d never felt anything like this before, and though he tried to rationalize that it was probably nothing, he couldn’t help but feel alarmed. Since the miscarriage, he’d been hyper-aware of every little ache or pain or twinge during this pregnancy. Anything that felt different or unusual put his anxiety on high alert and he had to refrain from running to Destiny every time he started to worry.

As he sinks back into the cushion, he feels it again. Only this time, the flutters are stronger, as if something is swimming around inside of him. And that’s when he realizes exactly what it is he’s feeling.

“What’s wrong?”

Peter’s tense voice practically echoes throughout the quiet living room, his attention completely attuned to Roman and away from the television. Roman jumps slightly, both at Peter’s question and the bubbles beginning to boil over in his tummy.

“Roman?” Peter repeats, his stern tone not at all masking his worry.  

Roman looks up at Peter, then down at his middle with wide eyes, his hand rubbing the spot where the sensation feels the strongest.

“He’s moving,” Roman says quietly.

“What??” Peter asks urgently.

“Come here,” Roman says, motioning Peter over with a little wave.

Immediately, Peter is next to him on the couch, visibly uneased.

“Here… Give me your hand,” Roman instructs, grabbing onto Peter’s wrist. Carefully, he places Peter’s palm along the bottom of his stomach.

“What is it?” Peter eyes him nervously.

“Just wait…” Roman whispers, holding Peter’s hand against his stomach.

They sit silently for a moment, the tension building as Peter fidgets anxiously at Roman’s side. Roman remains unnaturally still, focusing all of his energy down to the baby, willing him to keep moving, to let them feel him just one more time.

And then…

Peter lets out a tiny gasp as he feels the sudden, rapid fluttering against his palm.

“Oh, my God,” he breathes, looking wide eyed at Roman, who smiles brightly. “Was that… Was that a kick??”

Roman laughs, shaking his head in bewilderment. “I…I don’t know, I think so,” he says. “I haven’t really felt anything until now.”

Peter’s hand eagerly rubs over Roman’s stomach as the movement continues, his face struck with awe.

“What’s it feel like?” he asks.

Roman thinks for a minute, unsure how to put it into words. “Like…butterflies. Or gas. I don’t know, it’s weird.”

Peter chuckles. “Well, yeah, it’s gotta be weird. There’s actually a _person_ in there.”

Roman shook his head in astonishment. It was sometimes still hard to comprehend the fact that he was having a baby; even as he watched his belly start to grow, it seemed so surreal. Now that the baby was moving and making himself known, his pending arrival couldn’t be denied.

“C’mon, little man. Do it again!” Peter encourages, rubbing and tickling the side of Roman’s tummy.

Roman smirks. “Kids never do what you want them to, you know. You should probably get used to that idea now.”

Peter removes his hand from Roman’s belly with a pout. “We’ll try again later, I guess,” he sighs. “So, you’ve never felt him move before?”

“No,” Roman shakes his head. “I mean, Destiny said I’d start feeling movement around 16 weeks, and I’m at 18, so…”

“Ah, so we got ourselves a little late bloomer!” Peter jokes.

“Yeah, he’s a little slow. Just like his daddy,” Roman snorts, and Peter responds with a half-hearted sneer.

Though the flutters have finally stopped, Roman’s hand rests on the crown of his stomach, a sad thought voicing itself before he has a chance to stop it.

“At least he’s _moving_ , right?”

He can feel Peter’s sympathetic gaze pierce into him as soon as the words leave his mouth and he silently curses himself for thinking out loud.

“Roman,” Peter sighs sadly, resting a comforting hand on Roman’s thigh.

“Never mind, I…” Roman stammers. “I’m just being stupid, I don’t know why I said that.”

“You’re not being stupid,” Peter shakes his head.

“I mean…I just… God, I’m a fucking mess,” Roman says. “I know the baby is doing great and everything is fine, but this pregnancy just has me _so_ freaked out. Everything about it, I don’t know… Like I can’t even enjoy it because I spend all my time worrying something bad is gonna happen.”

Peter puts an arm around Roman’s shoulders and pulls him close. “I know, I get it. I mean, I was a nervous wreck, too, at first. But…now that I’ve gotten to _see_ him, and _feel_ him moving around in there…I know he’s gonna be okay.”

Roman sighs, his eyes filling up with tears. “I just think about Nadia all the time. Like, _all the time_.”

“It’s okay. I think about her too,” Peter soothes. “And we _should_ think about her. We never got to meet, but… She was our daughter. And she’ll always be a part of us.”

Roman nods, wiping a tear from his eye. “I know, just… This baby is part of us, too. He’s coming, and everything should be about him, but I can’t…focus on him like I should because I can’t let go of what happened to her.”

“You lost a child, Roman. There’s no ‘letting it go’,” Peter replies. “We just…hold her in our hearts, but keep moving forward. That’s all we can do. We’re getting there, it just takes time.”

“Yeah…” Roman sniffs.

“He knows you love him,” Peter says, gently rubbing his hand up and down Roman’s belly. “I know that’s what you’re worrying about, so…just don’t.”

Roman smirks. “Since when do you read minds?”

Peter shrugs with a cocky grin. “I’m just _that_ good, baby.” He leans in and plants a sensual kiss on Roman’s lips. “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” Roman replies.

Then, Peter looks at him with big, doe-like eyes.

“Now… Will you please program my Christmas present for me?”

Roman rolls his eyes with a scoff. “If it’ll shut you up…”

“It will. Because I’ll be watching TV for the rest of the day.”

“In that case…” Roman says, holding out his palm.

Peter hands Roman the remote, watching intently as Roman begins pressing multiple buttons, the screen going crazy with menus and lists. After about 10 minutes, the TV comes to life on a channel playing an old re-run of “Law & Order”.

“What the fuck…” Peter’s mouth falls open, his attention already completely absorbed in the television.

Roman tosses the remote into Peter’s lap and retrieves his magazine, picking up right where he left off. They sat just like that for the rest of the day, completely content with each other and the peaceful nothingness going on around them.

That sense of serenity, however, would be shattered merely a few nights later.

~*~*~*~

_The brightness of the moon begins to fade before him as his eyes slowly close, a suffocating heaviness enveloping him. Yet, instead of fear, he feels calm, comfortable._

_“Roman! Roman, come back. Please!” Destiny screeches desperately, grabbing hold of his shoulders and shaking him madly. “Don’t do this, Roman, fight it!”_

_It’s as if his consciousness is trapped underwater, wildly flailing against the rolling current to reach Destiny’s voice calling him back to the surface. He does what she wants; he fights it, wrestles his way through the overwhelming tide toward the moonlight._

_Taking a deep, gasping breath his eyes flutter open to see Destiny’s terrified face hovering just inches above his. His senses are jolted awake by a horridly sharp throbbing radiating from his side, his hand immediately pawing at the source of the pain. He winces as he makes contact with the stab wound, panic rising in his chest as he feels the unmistakable stickiness of blood._

_“It’s okay! Roman, it’s alright, you’re going to be okay,” Destiny rattles. “Just don’t move, sweetie. Don’t move, keep still.”_

_But it’s almost impossible to keep still or stay calm as his mind fully snaps out of the trance and catches up to reality. He can’t do either of those things because he remembers what’s about to happen in just three weeks time. And suddenly, his safety is no longer a concern._

_He wraps his arms around himself, embracing his hugely pregnant stomach, and cries out when he realizes that his blood has completely soaked through the bottom of his shirt, and is continuing to run._

_“NO!!” Roman screams loudly into the night air. “NO! PLEASE, NO! HELP HIM! DESTINY, HELP HIM!! PLEASE!! GOD, YOU HAVE TO DO SOMETHING! YOU HAVE TO SAVE MY BABY!!”_

_He struggles to sit up, but Destiny forces him back down, pressing her hand into his side in an attempt to decrease the blood flow. He writhes and pushes against her, but she keeps him firmly planted into the ground._

_“Roman, stay still!!” Destiny shrieks._

_“SAVE HIM!! HE’S DYING, YOU HAVE TO HELP HIM!” Roman yells over her._

_“It’s okay! Roman, it’s gonna be okay, I’m gonna help you, I’m…” Destiny trails off as her worried gaze travels to what’s going on in front of them._

_That’s when Roman hears it, the growling, the yelping, the unnatural snapping of bone._

_Destiny’s face twists in unimaginable horror, a broken sob escaping her throat as she screams. “NO!!! PETER, NO!!!”_

_The sound of Peter’s name shoots Roman’s panic into orbit, and he immediately tries to push himself up, but his wound bursts with a pain so excruciating, it rips the breath from his lungs. He groans loudly against the searing sting in his side, knowing he can’t do anything but watch helplessly from the ground._

_“WHAT?! WHAT IS IT?! WHERE’S PETER, WHAT’S HAPPENING?!” Roman cries._

_But Destiny can’t hear him over the sound of her own anguish. She struggles to her feet as the figure drops the wolf’s body to the ground and quickly approaches. Through her tears, Destiny’s voice is full of venom when she speaks._

_“YOU FUCKING DEMON SON OF A BITCH!!” she roars, reeling back a fist and lunging forward._

_As Destiny throws herself at the ominous figure, a hand swiftly shoots out from beneath its cloak and clamps onto Destiny’ throat. Destiny swings her arms wildly at them, hitting, pushing, scratching, doing anything she can to fight them off. Her hands angrily claw at the one around her neck, but the figure remains unmoved, warding off Destiny’s attempted attack with ease._

_“Don’t….don’t touch him,” Destiny’s strangled voice spits with rabid ferocity. “Don’t you fucking touch him!”_

_Then, in less than a blink, the figure plows its other hand into Destiny’s chest. Destiny chokes, her knees buckling beneath her as the figure holds her up by the throat and ruthlessly digs through her chest cavity._

_A few seconds later, the figure tears its hand out, clutching Destiny’s still beating heart in its coiled hand. Destiny chokes, struggling to breath as the life quickly leaves her body. When she eventually goes limp, the figure tosses her carelessly to the ground just a few feet away from Roman._

_“No…” Roman whimpers. “Destiny!! No!”_

_He looks at Destiny, her chest ripped to hemorrhaging shreds, the light absent in her gaping eyes. Glancing past her, he notices something lying a little way across the clearing, his eyes straining to get a better look in the darkness. It only takes a second for him to recognize Peter’s bloodied naked body, his neck snapped all the way around._

_“PETER!!!” Roman screams, trying once again to get up, to get to him. This can’t be happening. It can’t be too late._

_But suddenly, the figure is looming over him with the once forgotten kitchen knife clutched in its fist. The figure presses a foot down hard on his chest, and though he writhes beneath them, he’s too weakened to fight them off._

_The figure tears the blood-soaked t-shirt off of Roman’s engorged stomach, and before he realizes what is about to happen, the figure plunges the blade into the crown of his stomach and begins sawing through the flesh._

_He lets out a painful, ear-shattering wail into the cool night air, but it’s cut short as the figure kicks him hard in the side of the face and everything around him suddenly fades to black._

Roman wakes up screaming so loudly, Peter can actually feel the glass of the window he’s leaning against trembling.

“NOOO!! STOP!! NO, PETER!! PETER!!”

Peter runs over to Roman’s side of the bed, trying his best not to get hit by Roman’s flailing limbs. He’s fighting back, which Peter thinks is good, at least.

“Roman! Roman, baby, it’s me!” Peter yells over Roman’s cries. He grabs Roman’s shoulders, shaking them slightly. “Roman! It’s okay, I’m here! Come back to me, it’s alright. I’m right here!”

Finally, Roman’s eyes fly open, glancing around the dark bedroom in a panic. His screams cease as his terrified gaze lands on Peter.

“Peter?” he whispers fearfully.

“Yeah, baby. It’s me,” Peter soothes, taking Roman’s face in his hands.

His body shakes as the memory of dream lingers in his mind. The first nightmare has haunted him for months now. He thinks about it almost daily, analyzing every detail of it with alarming clarity and praying for an answer as to what it all meant.  

Now, he knew; he and Peter’s fate would be twisted even in death. What’s worse, Destiny, who doesn’t deserve any of this, will be going down with them. Her and…

Roman winces slightly as the baby suddenly kicks him in the side, and he completely falls apart in Peter’s hands.

“Oh, God!” he cries, dissolving into gut-wrenching sobs.

Peter wraps his arms around Roman, pulling him close. “It’s okay… Shh, it’s okay, Roman. You’re safe.”

“No! No, Peter, the baby! The baby’s not safe!” Roman moans, his hands enveloping his swollen belly.

Peter holds him tighter. “Yes, he is. He’s safe with us. I’m not gonna let anything happen to him, or to you. You hear me?”

Roman is crying so hard he can’t respond, so he just nods against Peter’s neck. Peter gently rubs his back, fighting to keep his own emotions in check. He knows exactly why Roman is so hysterical, and it breaks his heart…and scares him to death.

“Just breathe, it’s alright. I’ve got you,” Peter says quietly.

Roman pulls out of Peter’s embrace, his sobs quieting as he wipes his eyes. “Sorry,” he mutters. “I’m fine, I…I’m sorry.”

“No, don’t be sorry,” Peter says, taking Roman’s hands in his and preparing to confess what Roman needs to know. “I had a bad dream, too.”

At this, Roman feels his spine go unnaturally rigid. He stares up at Peter with wide, horrified eyes. “About what?” he asks in a quivering voice.

He watches as Peter’s eyes immediately fill up with tears, the devastation in his face giving Roman the answer.  


	25. Chapter 25

As soon as the sun began to peek through the clouds, Peter called Destiny. A shared dream between he and Roman hadn’t occurred in months, and this fact alone was worrisome. It wasn’t so much a dream as it was a prophesy, and this prophesy was too abhorrent to bear.

For the rest of the night, they lied wide awake in each other’s arms, Roman completely despondent and outright refusing to discuss it. Peter didn’t push him to go there, part of him relieved to not be talking or thinking about it. It felt as if saying it out loud would make it real, although they both knew how real it already was.

Peter held Roman close to him in the darkness. “We don’t have to talk about it right now,” he had said solemnly. “But eventually…you know we have to.”

Roman’s head rested against Peter’s chest, and for a long moment after Peter spoke, he didn’t respond. He feels the baby do a somersault inside of him, and he wraps a protective arm around his stomach. It was sickeningly clear to him what the key to all of this was, but to admit it to himself was to rip his heart into shreds.

What kind of fate had he brought upon this child? And what could he do to stop it? Was there anything he _could_ do? His heart sank as the realization dawned on him; _this_ is what Peter had tried to prevent so many months ago. They had cursed this baby just like they had cursed his sister.

 _No,_ Roman thought. _That’s just fucking ridiculous_. He and Peter were meant to be, they had been from the start. They were fated to each other, and fate always prevailed in the end…didn’t it?

Yes, he decided. Fate _does_ win and _will_ win, as he silently vowed to do anything in his power to protect the life of his unborn son, even if it meant giving up his own. _Especially_ if it meant that.

If any harm truly were to come to the baby, or to Peter, Roman wouldn’t want to live anyway. And if it came to that, he would gladly offer his soul for theirs.

Destiny’s too, as it’s his fault she’s even involved in their mess in first place.

The bedroom remained eerily silent, the soft exhalation of their breaths the only thing to be heard.  Peter ran a soft hand through Roman’s hair, wanting so badly to say something, needing to relieve himself of the pain the dream had caused, but knowing better. What could be said?

Roman lifted his head from Peter’s chest with a sad, weary gaze that ached Peter to the bone.

“We should call Destiny,” Roman muttered. “She needs to know about this. And maybe…she can help us stop it.”

And with that, he nestled back down into the bed, burying his face into Peter’s neck, and not another word was said between them for hours.

Peter had fully prepared for the tantrum Destiny was sure to throw for being awakened so early, and on a Sunday no less.  But the urgency of Peter’s words gave her very little room to argue.

“We need you,” Peter had said simply when she answered.

“Peter? Wha— What’s wrong?” Destiny asked, voice still thick with sleep. “Are you okay? Is it Roman?”

Peter lets the questions fly right past him, instead replying “We’ll explain when you get here. Just…get here.” And he hung up.

Destiny made it to the house in record time, cutting a ten minute drive down to four, practically using her body as a battering ram to get through the front door. When Peter let her in, her sights immediately fell on Roman, who was settled on the couch. Her stomach sank as she ran over to him.

“Roman, what is it?” she asks as she crouches down in front of him, her hands instinctively grasping either side of his belly, feeling for any inkling of distress. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

Roman’s vacant gaze is broken at her touch, his eyes snapping to meet hers. He carefully shakes his head, a timid smile playing across his lips. “I’m okay,” he assures her. “Baby’s okay, too.”

Destiny blinks at him. “Then, what—“

About that time, Peter comes to stand by Roman on the couch, offering her a steaming mug of coffee. “Settle in,” he says gruffly. “You’ll wanna get comfortable for this one.”

She sat rigidly in the arm chair across from the couch, where Peter placed himself next to Roman, their hands tightly entwined as if they feared they’d be separated somehow. They laid out the entire dream for her from beginning to end, not sparing a single detail no matter how gruesome or difficult to tell.

An hour later, Destiny’s cup of coffee had long been abandoned in favor of her third nervously inhaled cigarette. She takes in a deep, shaky drag as she carefully eyes the boys, their expressions oddly stoic after recounting such a graphic story.

“Well,” Destiny says quietly. “That’s some awfully heavy shit to unload so early in the morning.”

Peter gently squeezes Roman’s hand, feeling just the barest bit of comfort when Roman squeezes back.

“It means something. That much is obvious,” Peter says. “Roman and I don’t just ‘have dreams’, you know.”

Destiny nods in understanding, her eyes distant in contemplation as she nurses her cigarette. She flicks away the mounting pile of ash on the tip with a snap of her finger. “So, this first dream…or the first part of this _whole thing_ , I guess… When did that happen?”

“Right before I found out I was pregnant,” Roman says automatically, his answer robotic.

“Has it been reoccurring?” she asks.

Roman shakes his head. “No. I just had it the one time. But…it stayed with me. I’ve thought about it every day since.” Peter squeezes Roman’s hand again, just a bit more tightly.

Destiny tosses the nub of her cigarette into her unfinished cup of coffee, roughly exhaling the smoke from her nostrils. “I’m assuming you had the same dream at the same time,” she says, glancing at Peter.

“Yeah,” Peter answers.

Destiny narrows her eyes at them, the annoyance written plainly on her face.

“So…you both have this dream predicting the imminent death of not only your unborn child, but yourselves as well, all at the hands of this… _thing_ you’ve never seen before, knowing goddamn well that it’s not _just_ a dream, because it _never_ is, and yet… Neither one of you says _anything_ to the other about it…for months. Is that what I’m hearing right now?”

The boys simultaneously lower their eyes to the ground, avoiding Destiny’s reprimanding glare.

“Christ, you two,” Destiny scoffs.

“To be fair,” Peter defends. “I only had the dream once in…what, like four months? I mean, if I had it over and over again, then I—“

Destiny holds up a hand, silencing Peter instantly. “Regardless… One of you should’ve said _something_. I don’t get this whole ‘keeping secrets’ routine you guys have, but I’m telling you now… that kinda shit doesn’t fly in a marriage. Just throwing that out there.”

“Like you would know anything about marriage…” Peter scoffs under his breath.

“Don’t be a smart little shit right now,” Destiny snaps, shooting Peter a glare that let him know her point had been made and he needed to shut up.

With a huff, she reaches over and grabs the pack of cigarettes she had thrown on the coffee table, tearing it open and digging through it with haste. Peter watches her closely, noticing the slight tremble of her hands as she places a cig between her teeth and fumble around with the lighter.

On the surface lies her obvious aggravation at their stubbornness (or rather, their stupidity), coupled with the fatigue of having yet another grueling mystery to solve with very few clues to start with.

But below that, something more prominent slowly begins to bleed through, something Peter doesn’t think he’s ever truly seen in her before, and he realizes what she’s wearing on the outside is just a mask covering an unmistakable flow of fear.

Destiny takes a long drag off the cigarette, leaning her head back against the chair as she expels a shaky breath of smoke. She stares up at the ceiling in brooding silence, the boys shifting uncomfortably next to each other amid the eerie quiet.

Finally, Roman clears his throat and quietly says, “I’m sorry I didn’t say anything.”

Destiny and Peter both turn their heads to look at him, the attention making his cheeks catch fire immediately.

“I should’ve told you about the dream as soon as I had it. I just…didn’t want you to worry,” Roman looks at Peter, whose face practically glows with empathy. “That, and…I think I wanted to forget about it…or I thought maybe if I ignored it long enough, it would be like it never happened. Like that’s ever worked for us before.”

Peter gives him a sad smile, knowing he withheld the truth for the exact same reason. He too had hoped it would just go away, like all nightmares eventually do. It stayed with him for weeks, not a single detail changing or fading with the passing of many dream-filled nights. He remembered it all, and no matter how many hours he’d mulled it over in his brain, none of it seemed to make sense. Until last night.

Though the dream was the same, Peter had only seen it through his own perspective. As far as Roman was concerned, he had no idea how much of it was seen or not seen. From what he remembered, Roman seemed to be under a spell of sorts, almost like the trance he would put people under when he did his crazy “voo-doo eyes” trick on them. He had absolutely no control, following every demented command without a trace of hesitation. He wasn’t Roman, but merely a puppet.

By that reasoning, Peter could guess that Roman had not seen the same things he had, or at least didn’t see things in their entirety. If he knew what Peter knew…it would destroy him.

Roman needed to know, there was no room for doubt about that in Peter’s mind; he needed and deserved to know what they were really facing. But how could Peter tell him such an unspeakable truth after all he’d already been through? How could he, in good conscience, break Roman’s heart even more?

Thus another piece was thrown into their game of secret keeping.

Peter’s concentration is broken as Roman grabs his hand and brings it to rest on the crown of his belly, where he can feel their son’s gentle, rolling movements. Peter beams at getting to feel their child once again, but his happiness is quickly taken over by his guilt.

Destiny lets out a deep sigh and tosses her cigarette into the coffee cup with the other one.

“I know you were just trying to protect each other. I don’t blame you for that, at all. After what you’ve been through…I understand wanting to keep the other safe,” she says solemnly. “But this is serious. I mean, this…this isn’t even life or death type shit, it’s just… _death_. For all of us.”

Peter tightens his grip on Roman’s hand as the fate he’s met with in the nightmare comes flooding back to his mind. The wolf was out, teeth bared, and fur raised, with the enemy square in his sights. It was standing right out there in the open, urging him on and practically begging him to come take a bite. He lunged, his intent to kill stronger and more primal than it had ever been, but…

It had him immediately, snatched him out of the air like a reptile claims an insect for its meal. The monster’s arms closed around the wolf’s body, trapping him in a grip that tightened like a vice instantly. The wolf yelped as the breath was violently expelled from his lungs, his eyes falling on the face of his attacker…and recognizing them just as the vertebrae in his back snapped in half.  

The memory abruptly dissolves from his mind, leaving a horridly sick feeling rolling in the pit of his stomach. That’s where it all ended, the fate of his family unknown to him until this morning. When all was said and done, the blood of everyone he loved would stain his hands. He’d ultimately failed to protect them, just like he knew he was failing to protect them now by staying silent.

“So,” Destiny sighs. “the first thing we should focus on is the  _why_. What is the motivation of this person--or whatever it is--to come after  _you_? What does it want? If we narrow that down, then maybe we’ll gather some idea on _who_ it is. Any thoughts?”

 _TELL THEM!!_  Peter’s brain screams at him. _You know the truth, you need to tell them. You’re fucking wasting time. Stop being a coward._

Every nerve in Peter’s body buzzes with the want to come clean, knowing it is entirely ridiculous to be keeping it to himself. The answer to their question stands on the very tip of his tongue, desperately eager to take the life-altering plunge at any second.

But instead, he listens to their back and forth contemplation, his mouth going painfully dry the longer he stays quiet. Once again, the voice in his head bellows at him.  _What the fuck are you waiting for?! Tell them!_ But instead of bowing to reason, his body responds by suddenly shooting up off of the couch and hastily making his way to the kitchen, Roman and Destiny’s eyes trailing him with question.

A pen drops in the silence, as Peter inwardly curses himself for drawing in their attention. He opens one of the cabinets above the sink and fishes out a ceramic mug, then fiddles with the coffee maker as if he’s intending on pouring himself a cup.

“Peter?” Roman’s voice practically echoes throughout the house. “Everything alright?”

Every muscle in Peter’s back tightens at the question and he continues the task of distracting himself. If he were to look back, there’s no way he wouldn’t crumble.

“Yeah,” he clears his throat. “Anyone want more coffee?”

“I think we’re fine…” Roman answers warily.

Peter pours himself less than half of a cup and takes a deep breath before turning around. He walks back into the living room with his gaze straight ahead, feeling the heat to two pairs of curious eyes on him. He robotically sits back down, glancing up to see Roman’s face creased with concern.

He smiles at him half-heartedly before catching Destiny’s eye, the glaring suspicion in her stare almost enough to melt him on the spot.

Destiny settles herself back into the chair, her sights on Peter unwavering, and she laces her fingers together tightly.

“Well, Peter?” she inquires. “What do _you_ think?”

Peter looks up and is met with her eye bullets, blasting holes in the side of his ship and sinking him fast. He swallows and quickly looks away, but her mistrust was already carving away at him like a dull blade. 

He drifts his eyes ahead, hoping he appears to be lost in thought rather than in avoidance, and shakes his head. "I have no idea. Doesn't make any sense."

"Really?" Destiny states, her eyes narrowing at him dangerously. "I think you know something."

Peter snaps his head up, meeting her scornful look with a glower of his own.

“I told you, I don’t know anything,” he retorts.

“Yeah? And I’m saying you’re full of shit,” Destiny bites back. “You know something, I can see it.”

Roman looks between the two of them, his eyes settling on Peter and studying him carefully.

“What’s she talking about?”

Peter’s stare remains fixed on Destiny. “Nothing,” he answers bitterly. “She just thinks being able to read palms makes her all-fucking-knowing or something.”

“Don’t you fucking go there with me,” Destiny spits hotly. “I _don’t_ know all, but I do know a hell of a lot, and I sure as fuck know  _you_. And  _you_  are hiding something.”

Destiny stares Peter down, her guard standing aggressively tall over his crumbling resolve. He’ll break eventually, she knows he will. Aside from clairvoyance, the art of intimidation is one she had mastered before she was out of diapers, and despite her cousin’s best efforts, he had always been soft against it.

Even now, she could see him beginning to sweat. “Look me in the fucking eyes and tell me you aren’t,” she says.

Peter looks her squarely in the face, his expression cold and unblinking in his annoyance, and for just a second, Destiny thinks he may not be putting her on. But just as he opens his mouth to speak, she notices the slight, subtle shift his eyes make away from hers.

“I’m not…” he mutters.

“Bullshit.”

Peter feels the heat of anger beginning to rise up from his neck and fill his cheeks. How could he make her understand? He didn’t _want_ to be hiding things from them, he didn’t _want_ to lie. But he couldn’t find the words to tell Roman what he knew. He couldn’t stand the idea of hurting him again, and if he told the truth, he would be doing exactly that.

He knew what Destiny was doing, and he knew she was right to do so. But he couldn’t do it this way.

Trying to push down the hostility, he gives Destiny a passive look. “Let it go, Dee,” he says.

“Let _what_ go, Peter?” Destiny says with a patronizing tone.

Peter looks down with a dismissive wave. “Nothing…”

“No! I’m not gonna fucking let it go, because we’re all gonna be fucking dead soon and you’re over there keeping goddamn secrets! Why?? Are you that fucking selfish that you—”

“I’m not being selfish, Destiny, if you would just shut the fuck up and let me—"

“STOP!!”

Roman has to scream to be heard over them, but both Peter and Destiny fall deathly silent following the outburst. He looks between the two of them, a mixture of confusion and irritation creasing his brow, as his hand unconsciously rubs the side of his stomach where he feels the baby give a sharp kick.

He winces slightly at the feeling, which doesn’t go unnoticed by Peter, but Roman completely bypasses his concern with a cross look that sobers Peter quickly.

“She’s right, isn’t she?” Roman says, fighting to keep his voice neutral. “You know something.”

Peter’s mouth slacks open as he looks at his fiancé, guilt pooling in his gut. “Roman—”

“Are you fucking kidding me, Peter?” Roman seethes. “Our baby’s life is at stake, and you know something about it and you’re hiding it?!”

“No! I’m not…I’m not _trying_ to hide things from you, I just need to—"

“Then what is it? What are you not telling me?”

Peter feels his heart ache at the fear and sadness swimming in Roman’s eyes, He glances at Destiny, who looks as though she might pounce if he doesn’t start talking in the next two seconds, and it’s apparent that he no longer has a choice.

_It’s over, man. We lost._

Peter gives Roman an agonized look, hoping he’ll realize how much it would pain him to say what he needs to say and decide to let it go for now. But Roman isn’t deterred.

“Tell me, Peter,” Roman says quietly. “Please.”

With a heavy sigh, Peter closes his eyes and runs a rough hand through his hair. He turns away from Roman, focusing his attention on something else. If he really must tell him the truth, he doesn’t want to see the impact it has.

“Okay…” Peter says. “I…I might know what’s after us. Or… _who_ is after us.”

“What??” Destiny gasps.

“Yeah… In the dream, when the wolf attacked…” Peter staggers along, praying that the floor will break open beneath him and swallow him whole. “I remember a flash of a face. It was just for a second, but…”

“Who was it?” Roman asks urgently, his hand coming to clamp down nervously on Peter’s thigh. “Peter, who did you see?”

Peter slowly turns to look at Roman, staring deeply into those beautiful green eyes now so filled with worry it made his stomach twist. Gently grabbing Roman’s hand, Peter takes in a big breath, letting the words finally fall from his tongue.

“Your mother…”

A deafening silence blankets the room as Roman and Destiny stare at him, Roman’s face falling deathly pale as soon as the words are out. The breath catches in Peter’s throat as he looks at him, expecting the bomb of realization to detonate any second and obliterate everything in its wake.

 “Shit…” Destiny mutters to herself, reaching for her pack of smokes. She throws herself back into the chair as she lights the cigarette and stares up at the ceiling, the worry in her face shining like a beacon.

Peter keeps his eyes keenly peeled on Roman, who sits with an eerily composed stillness that Peter finds almost frightening. He knows he should say something, anything to offer Roman some semblance of solace, but his well is dry. Moreover, he wishes  _Roman_  would say something.

“I…I’m sorry I didn’t tell you earlier, Roman, I just… I didn’t know how,” Peter says. “I knew it would hurt you, and I couldn’t stand to do that again. Sounds stupid, but…”

Roman’s suddenly eyes narrow at him with a sharp skepticism. “Olivia…” he states, as if seeking assurance.

“Yes,” Peter replies.

“It’s Olivia…” Roman repeats, his voice cracking slightly.

Peter carefully takes Roman’s hand in both of his. “We’re gonna get through this, okay? We’re gonna…we’ll put our heads together, figure out what’s going on, and…just go from there, alright?”

Roman looks at Peter, sees his lips’ frenzied movements, but he can’t hear a word of it. Bits from the nightmare are flashing like a strobe over and over in his mind, and it now seemed so blatantly obvious. He knew from the start that something felt familiar, but he never imagined…

Then again, how could he have been so stupid as  _no_ t to suspect her? No one on this godforsaken earth had more motive to destroy his happiness than his own mother.

From inside him, he feels the baby flip around, and the movement makes him want to vomit. He blinks a couple of times, Peter’s anxiety ridden face coming into focus, and all he wants to do is get out of this room.

He slowly pulls his hand out of Peter’s grasp, noticing the look of immediate alarm spreading across Peter’s face, but feeling numb to it. He places both hands around his stomach and carefully hoists himself up, making both Peter and Destiny shoot to their feet and hover around him.

“Roman? Roman, what is it?” Peter presses, grabbing onto the small of Roman’s back.

“Nothing. I, uh….” Roman mutters, twisting out of Peter’s arm and making his way around the couch.

Peter and Destiny nearly run into each other as they file behind Roman. Peter’s heart starts to flutter with panic as Roman gravitates toward the staircase. He shoots a despairing glance at Destiny, who looks just as helpless, as he closes in on Roman.

“Roman, say something,” Peter pleads, grabbing onto Roman’s wrist just as he sets foot on the bottom step. “Can we talk about this? Please. Talk to me.”

Roman stiffly turns to both of them with vacant eyes, making Peter’s heart clench with painful recognition.

“I’m going to the bathroom,” Roman says quietly. “I just need…a minute. Alone.”

With that, Peter releases his hold on Roman and solemnly watches as he ascends the stairs. Destiny pops the cigarette back into her mouth, waiting until Roman is out of sight before she speaks.

“Fucking Christ…” she says with disbelief.

“I know,” Peter replies.

Destiny saunters back into the living room, lethargically flopping down into the armchair. Peter comes to sit on the couch, leaning on his elbows and burying his face in his hands with a groan. This is exactly the outcome he expected, but seeing it play out this way kills him nonetheless. It was the right thing to do, he knows. But it sure as hell wasn’t the way he wished to go about it.

He feels a nudge on his arm and looks up to see Destiny offering him her cigarette. He takes it from her and pinches it between his teeth, taking in a long drag. The rush of nicotine quiets the buzzing of his nerves, but only a little bit. He takes another hit for good measure.

Destiny sighs, running a hand through her tangled curls. “I’m not surprised, you know,” she says. “I figured it was only a matter of time before Queen Bitch came out of the woodwork. She held out longer than I thought.”

“That’s Olivia,” Peter says. “She calculates. And then she hits you when you feel safe.”

Destiny studies him carefully, as if trying to peer into his thoughts, to read him without having to touch him. “So… this whole time, you knew it was her and you  _didn’t tell him_?”

Peter gives her pointed look. “No. I didn’t see her face the first time. I woke up before I could get the chance. And then last night…I came face to face with her.”

“So, you’re absolutely sure? You can say with 100 percent surety that Olivia Godfrey is the one behind this?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Peter emphasizes. “And, for your information, I wanted to tell Roman immediately, but that’s not something you can just blurt out. I was trying to think of a delicate way to break it to him, but you just  _had_  to know right the fuck now.”

Destiny rolls her eyes. “Well, I’m so fucking sorry,” she sniffs sarcastically. “If someone’s coming to kill me, I’d like to at least know who the fuck it is. I’m not as passive about your secret keeping as Roman is.”

“I wasn’t trying to keep secrets! I was just…” Peter sighs, trying to explain himself. “This pregnancy has him wigged out enough, okay? He’s a mess as it is, and I can’t just spring that kinda shit on him.”

“I know. And I get that, Peter,” Destiny reasons. “But you—“

A thunderous crash erupts from upstairs, and Peter springs up from the couch, hitting a dead run toward the staircase.

“What the fuck?!” Destiny startles, following behind him.

As Peter sprints up the stairs, there’s a second crash, followed by the sound of glass exploding.

“Roman!!” he calls out, heart lodged into his throat.

Once they’re at the top of the stairs, they follow the chorus of glass shatters and wall rattling booms to the end of the hallway. The sound is coming from the spare bedroom Roman converted into a home office that Peter has never seen him actually use.

Until today, that is.

Peter screeches to a halt in the doorway, just in time to see Roman pick up the computer monitor sitting on the big oak desk near the window and slam it into the floor. His eyes skirt over the rest of the room and he can hardly believe what he’s seeing.

In a matter of seconds, Roman has reduced the space into absolute carnage. Books and office supplies are strewn about haplessly, broken glass from three destroyed lamps litters the floor. The wall is lined with various dents and cracks from being forcefully struck over and over. And in the middle of it all lies a massive bookshelf, which Roman managed to pull down himself.

From behind Peter, Destiny peers into the room with horror. “Oh, my God…”

Peter runs in just as Roman starts yanking at the wires still connecting the computer to the outlet underneath the desk.

“Roman!” he yells, grabbing onto Roman’s arms. “Roman, stop!”

But it’s like he isn’t even in the room. Without a hint of acknowledgment, turns his attention away from the wires and makes a mad grab for the glass paperweight that remains on the desk. He launches the weight against the wall with a grunt of rage, leaving a gaping hole in the drywall.

It’s when Roman begins ramming his fists into the massive desk that Peter gets rough. He grabs Roman’s arm and whips him around so they’re facing each other.

“ROMAN, STOP!” he screams, clamping his hands on either side of Roman’s head.

Roman’s body trembles beneath Peter’s touch, the anger coursing through him like an unstoppable river. His eyes are practically black, their bright green color almost undetectable in his fury.

“Hey,” Peter says gently, stroking Roman’s cheek with his thumb. “Come back to me.”

Finally, Roman blinks a few times, his brows knitting together in confusion as the anger diffuses little by little. His eyes dart around the room sporadically before landing back on Peter with that all-too-familiar look of heartbreak as the reality of the situation appears to set in. Roman’s face crumbles in Peter’s hands as he begins to weep.

Instinctively, Peter wraps his arms around him and gently lowers them both to the floor, kicking away any visible shards of glass. He holds Roman close to him as he cries into his shoulder, rubbing circles into his back as he repeats assurances that everything is okay.

He’s not sure he believes that, but he says it anyway.

Destiny stands in the doorway, shell shocked by what she’s just witnessed. Carefully, she tip-toes into the room, observing all of the damage in awe. She’s never seen Roman go into full meltdown mode before, and Peter wishes he could’ve prepared her somehow. For him, it’s old hat.

She shakes her head in bewilderment. “I, uh… I’m gonna go find a broom,” she says absently.

“No, no,” Peter protests. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll clean up later.”

She frowns at him with uncertainty, but he just offers her a sheepish smile.

“It’s okay, Dee,” he says. “Just…can you give us a minute?”

With a weary look, she gives a tiny nod before seeing herself out. Peter presses his forehead into Roman’s hair, placing a soft kiss on his temple. Roman sniffles as his cries finally quiet, and he pulls away from Peter, the split and bloodied knuckles of his hands rubbing on the swell of his stomach.

“You okay?” Peter asks, concerned.

Roman shakes his head. “Yeah,” he sniffs. “He’s kicking me like crazy.”

Peter chuckles as he rests his hand on Roman’s belly, his palm immediately pummeled with little nudges and punches. “Well, you probably gave him a nice shot of adrenaline. Ya know…with all this.”

An amused smile lifts the corner of Roman’s lips as he concentrates on feeling his son’s movements. Then, just as quickly, his expression turns frighteningly dark.

“I want to kill her,” Roman spits through clenched teeth. “I want her fucking dead.”

“I know…so do I,” Peter admits. “But, as much as I hate to say it, we can’t just waltz over there and murder your mother.”

“Why not?” Roman seethes.

“Because we need a plan. If we just go in, guns blazing…mistakes are gonna be made. Ones that we can’t weasel our way out of,” Peter says. “We figure out a plan, we build an alibi…and we’ll go from there.”

Roman hits Peter with a sobering glare. “What the fuck does she want from us?”

“I don’t know,” Peter shakes his head sadly. “But I won’t let anything happen, okay? I promised I would protect you and our family, and I meant it.”

Roman smiles, his eyes tearing back up as he looks around, absorbing the disaster he’s created.

“I don’t know what the fuck came over me,” his voice quivers. “I just lost it.”

“It’s okay,” Peter soothes, cupping a hand around Roman’s cheek. “I get it.”

Roman rubs a hand over his stomach. “I’m so tired,” he mumbles, his lip trembling.

“I bet,” Peter replies before holding out his hand. “C’mon.”

Roman takes Peter’s hand without thinking about it, as Peter stands and helps Roman to his feet. Hand in hand, Roman lets Peter lead him out of the remains of the office and down the hallway into the bathroom without another word.

~*~*~*~

The sun is beginning to set, and Peter stands in the doorway of their room, watching as Roman continues to sleep. Throwing such a fit left him exhausted, and these days it didn’t take much to tire him out.

Peter worried about what affect this destructive episode could have on the baby, but feeling his son be so active relieved him and he decided that meant he was probably fine. Either way, he was thankful Destiny was here, just in case things took a turn.

After bandaging his busted knuckles up, Peter tucked Roman into bed. He’d been out for hours, so for the rest of the afternoon, Peter and Destiny went over the details of the dream again and again, and they weren’t able to come up with a single answer. Out of frustration, they finally took a break and let it lie for the time being, distracting themselves with talk of other things.

After an unexciting grilled cheese dinner, Peter found himself upstairs waiting for Roman to wake up. He hadn’t expected Roman’s reaction to hearing the truth, but he wasn’t all that surprised either. He too was quite distraught when he recognized Olivia in the dream, and in the moments before Roman woke up screaming, he wracked his brain to figure out what it was she wanted from them. But in the end, he just came up empty. 

He feels Destiny’s presence long before she eventually comes to stand next to him. “So, good news,” she says casually. “The computer still works.”

Peter gives her a questioning look.

“I got bored… So, I checked,” she shrugs.

“Ah,” Peter says. “Thanks for that.”

They stand there silently, their eyes falling on Roman’s sleeping form. The day had worn them down as well, but they couldn’t get their minds off of the threat at hand. Peter wanted nothing more than to go over to Olivia’s house and take care of her once and for all. But, like he told Roman, he couldn’t do so without a course of action. What kind of husband and father could he be behind bars?

For Destiny, it was even more frustrating. She could figure this whole thing out if only she had the necessary means. But such means weren’t in their possession and she couldn’t come up with a reasonable answer if she tried. Even with everything Peter had told her about what he’d seen, she couldn’t make rhyme or reason out any of it. And it was hard telling how much time they really had to figure it out.

So much worry consumed them both, but Peter was more than willing to take it on so Roman could have a moment of peace.

“It’s gonna be okay,” Peter suddenly says, as if trying to convince himself. “I mean… we’re gonna stop her, right?”

Destiny is thoughtful for a moment, remembering how she promised Roman that she’d do anything to take care of him and the baby all those months ago, and feeling a growing sense of dread in her stomach.

She sighs. “I sure fucking hope so.”


	26. Chapter 26

“It’s gonna be okay. I mean…we’re gonna stop her, right?” Roman hears Peter ask, the fearful lilt of his tone enough to make Roman’s heart sink.

Destiny sighs sadly. “I sure fucking hope so.”

There’s a beat or two of silence before the door is quietly pulled to a close, and he listens to their muffled footsteps disappear down the hallway. He lies curled up on the bed, wrapping his arms tightly around his belly as the anxiety once again begins to swell in his chest.

He’d been fighting this feeling all day, lying here alone in bed and not actually sleeping a wink because his distress wouldn’t let him. He knew he ought to get up, play a productive role in solving their latest mystery, but he could hardly bear to think of it, much less discuss it.

Besides, it wasn’t much of a mystery to him why Olivia would be behind such a horrific act. The answer was glaringly simple: his mother detests him, repulsed by the life he had chosen to live out of reach of her chaotic influence. He was in the arms of their sworn enemy.

That was the root of it all, his relationship with Peter. The fact that Roman had fallen so deeply in love with a person she considered to be nothing more than common trash was a travesty to her. And Roman sometimes wondered if part of her resentment stemmed from envy. She had never known the kind of love he and Peter have for each other and was threatened by it.

Olivia had lost Roman, her grip on him vanishing with his defiance. He knew what her plan for him ultimately was, to become full upir and keep her legacy alive. But Roman had decided the moment he learned the truth about himself that she would never, ever win. He’d rather die than become the parasite she was, and if he had to live the rest of his life fighting her, he would.

But now, the stakes were so much higher, and the culpability he felt for putting his family in danger made it difficult to breathe. All she wanted was _him_ , coveting what his lineage could offer her, and he wondered why he was even resisting. If he knew for certain that giving himself over would spare Peter and their child, he would go to her this very minute and strike a deal, promise to give her whatever she wanted.

He couldn’t gamble with their lives, especially if he knew a way around it.

The same questions plagued him over and over again: When was it going to happen? What was stopping her from attacking right now? He tried to reason that she probably didn’t know where he was, but he stomped out that hope just as quickly. Olivia would always know where he was; she had eyes and ears strewn throughout this town.

He knew that even in escaping her, he would never truly be free of her shadow. And that meant, eventually, his child would be caught in their crossfire. A furious guilt twisted itself around his throat as he realized that despite his best efforts and intentions, this baby would be born with the same storm cloud hanging over his head after all.

From the beginning, he’d sworn to separate his son from the poison of the Godfrey name. But how could he, now that the threat was already on its course?

Rolling onto his back, he stares up at the ceiling as his thoughts drift back to the events of the dream, all the little details falling around him like acidic rain. The only thing he remembered with true clarity was the moment he seemed to become himself again. Something in his mind opened, and he woke up from a dream within the dream, only to discover that reality was now a nightmare.

He could still hear Destiny’s cries, see her watch on helplessly as he bled out beneath her. He could see the truth in her face; he was going to die. There was no way a person could lose the amount of blood he was losing, at the rate he was losing it, and possibly survive.

His own life mattered very little at the time, though. The wound he’d unconsciously inflicted upon himself was dangerously close to where the baby was still growing, and it anguished him to think that he may have brought harm to his child.

As the world began to slip away from him, he begged Destiny to save the baby by whatever means necessary. She could cut it out of him right then and there if she needed to. If his death meant giving life to his son, he was ready and willing to let go.

He felt a gentle rolling sensation just then as the baby shifted within him, and his hand came to rest on the curve of his belly as a realization occurred to him. He was only nineteen and a half weeks into his pregnancy, but in the dream, he appeared to be merely days away from giving birth.

Closing his eyes, he forces the dream back into his mind, willing himself to remember more. He felt it then, the damp, cool night air biting at his skin as he traipsed through the forest, the foliage around him budding green in impending bloom. It was Spring.

A relief flooded through him just then, only to be quickly replaced with dismay. There was time to piece this together. It wasn’t as if it would happen today or tomorrow or a week from now. They had the advantage of knowing what she was going to do, and could plan an effective defense against her.

But he was saddened to know that the next few months, which should be filled with excitement and anticipation over their wedding and the baby’s arrival would instead be spent preparing for the possibility that they couldn’t outrun this after all.

And that uncertainty cut him so deeply, he could barely stomach it. This beautiful life he was building with Peter could soon be reduced to nothing. All of their longing for each other, their suffering and pain at being torn apart, their joy of being reunited and their hope for this new soul they’d created will be for naught. Roman’s heart ached as his mind asked the question: What was the point of any of it?

If he were smarter, not as selfish, he would have stayed well within in his mother’s reign and prevented this from happening. He would be miserable, yes, but he would be the only one enduring her wrath. Peter would be safe, living a life free of Roman’s constant bullshit. He’d be so much better off.

It would kill Peter to know that’s what he was thinking.

Suddenly, the baby gave him a nice little jab in the side and he sat up in bed with a wince. He rubbed the inkling of pain out of the muscle, the baby’s fluid motions still detectable under his skin.

As the baby settled beneath his touch, he wondered what Olivia’s plans entailed for the rest of his family. She wanted to secure her lineage through Roman, that much he knew. But that couldn’t be the only thing she was after. Her agendas were never so cut and dry.

And from what they’d all witnessed, the baby seemed to be of importance to her. But why?

He wondered if it had to do with Peter, the hatred she had for his kind to begin with, on top of the fact that he fathered Roman’s child. She certainly wouldn’t be above eradicating any trace of him that existed in her bloodline. Then, she’d get rid of Peter once and for all, so it could never happen again.

And to kill Peter would be to kill Roman as well. Two birds, one stone.  

He remembered her determination to eliminate the barriers that stood between her and Roman, doing away with Peter and Destiny as if it were hardly any effort on her part at all. She thrived on the opportunity for revenge, becoming nearly unstoppable when her plans were executed.

Getting past them was barely an obstacle and before Roman could process what was happening, there she was above him, then an unknown assailant whose motives made a terrifying lack of sense. But all of his will to fight back had drained out of his body with the blood.

She could’ve finished him off then, but she didn’t. She took her time, making sure he suffered as he watched the blade he’d used on himself now tear through his torso with deliberate haphazard. Agony ripped from his throat, but only for a second before she kicked him unconscious.

Of course, she intended for him to die all along, but she couldn’t be the one to physically kill him. Dying by his own hand was the only true way he could become full upir, and since he wasn’t willing, she had to force him. Under her spell, he’d performed the act as she planned, and eventually the mortal side of him would wither away and be reborn as the monster she was.

But that didn’t quite make sense, either. If she’s influencing him to end his life, he’s not doing it on his own volition. And if he doesn’t do it on his own, it’s not truly suicide; it’s murder. She planned to kill Roman, really kill him, and he wouldn’t become upir after all. He’d just be dead.

The breath caught in his throat as another piece of the puzzle seemed to present itself. There were many children born to Olivia before him, none of them possessing the caul she so longed for them to have. She finally got her upir child in Roman, but he’d began defying her almost as soon as he left the womb, and her hold on him now was severed.

She’d lost the only heir she had…the only heir she knew of, anyway.

 _No,_  Roman thought.  _No, that’s impossible_. Peter has envisioned this child, and Roman believed in his premonition. Their son was like Peter; he would grow to be a wolf and therefore couldn’t have been born with a caul. Or…could he?

It hit Roman then that there was no possible way for them to know until he was born. That is what Olivia wanted; she had to see if the baby was like his father. If he was…

She no longer had control over Roman, but a baby could be raised in control, and molded into whatever she wanted them to be. He could be everything she had hoped for in Roman.

Roman had prayed since the moment he found out he was pregnant that this baby would be anything but like him. However, now it seemed that either way, the baby would fall victim to a despairing fate.

If he had a caul, he’d belong to Olivia.

If he didn’t… Well, what had Olivia done to Roman’s sister, Juliet? What had she attempted to do to Shelley?

Roman is out of the bed so fast, he nearly topples over when his feet hit the floor. He races out of the bedroom and down the hallway, tromping down the steps as best as his body would allow. From there, he saw Peter and Destiny corralled at the dining room table, slumped over and nursing drinks he was sure were highly alcoholic.

"She wants the baby!" Roman cries once he's halfway down.

Peter and Destiny startle at the sound of his voice, their heads snapping up at attention.

“What??” Peter gasps, jumping up from his seat and rushing over to Roman with Destiny trailing close behind.

Meeting Roman at the bottom of the stairs, Peter’s arms spring out, catching Roman as he practically falls from the last step. “Whoa! Slow down!” Peter exclaims. “What are you talking about?”

Seeing the worry in Peter’s face makes Roman’s panic swell that much faster. He’s suddenly out of breath as tears rush to the surface, practically blinding him.

“He could…he could be upir,” Roman pants. “He could be like you, but…he could be like me, too. We don’t know, we can’t know! I don’t know…”

“Breathe, Roman,” Peter says calmly. “Look at me.”

Roman does as he’s told, still struggling to fill his lungs. Peter places a gentle hand on his face, which seems to calm him, but only in the barest bit.

“Look at me,” Peter repeats quietly, Roman’s eyes finally meeting his. “What’s going on?”

“Olivia wants the baby,” Roman’s voice trembles.

“What do you mean?” Peter asks.

“I mean she wants to take our baby from us, Peter, what the fuck do you think I mean?!” he snaps, his cheeks going instantly red.

Destiny and Peter share alarmed glances as she steps over to intervene.

“Okay, let’s take a beat here, Roman. Come sit down, we’ll talk,” Destiny says.

Roman shakes his head. “There’s no time to talk,” he growls. “We have to do something, we gotta take care of this.”

He starts to push himself through Peter and toward the front door, but Peter is able to hold him back.

“Wait, what? Roman, I told you we need a plan!” Peter exasperates. “We’re not just gonna go over there—“

“WHY NOT?!” Roman bellows, shoving Peter off of him. “WHY, PETER?? I KNOW WHAT SHE WANTS AND I’M NOT JUST GONNA FUCKING SIT HERE AND LET HER COME TAKE IT!  _FUCK_ HAVING A PLAN! I WANT HER FUCKING DEAD! I WANT THIS OVER!”

He tries to make a run for the front door again, but Peter wraps his arms around Roman’s waist and begins dragging him into the dining room.

“HEY!” Peter shouts. “Roman,  _stop_!”

Roman fights against him, trying in vain to tear himself out of Peter’s arms, reaching for the front door in desperation as he’s being carried into the dining room.

“GET OFF ME!!” Roman spits angrily.

“I will when you calm the fuck down!” Peter retorts, tightening his hold as Roman twists and wriggles in his arms.

“DON’T TELL ME TO FUCKING CALM DOWN!” Roman cries, his voice breaking as the fight in him appears to be dissolving. “MY _MOTHER_  IS COMING TO KILL MY CHILD AND YOU WANT ME TO BE CALM??”

Peter stops dead in his tracks, looking hopelessly at a bewildered Destiny. Roman stills in his arms, breathing hard and biting back tears as he finally forfeits. Peter releases his constrictive embrace, pulling Roman into him and carefully wrapping his hands protectively around Roman’s belly from behind.

Closing his eyes, Roman lets out a shuddering breath as the tears finally spill over. “What are we gonna do?”

Peter buries his face into the side of Roman’s neck, breathing shallowly into his skin as he tries keep his own emotions in check.

“We’re gonna stop her, okay?” he says quietly, placing a soft kiss on Roman’s collar bone.

“How?” Roman sniffs.

“We’ll figure it out,” Peter replies. “But we need to talk it out first. I know you’re upset and you wanna do anything you can do protect him…so do I. But we can’t do that if we don’t know what the hell we’re up against. I need you to trust me on this… Do you trust me?”

Roman turns back to look at Peter with horribly bloodshot eyes. “You know I do.”

“Okay,” Peter smiles. “So…let’s sit, lay it all out, and then see where we stand.”

Roman looks at him carefully for a moment before silently nodding in agreement and letting Peter lead him to the chair at the head of the dining room table. He practically collapses with exhaustion in the seat, rolling his neck around and trying not to wince at the sound of his bones grinding.

Destiny sits on his right, her sharp eyes set on him with worry. Resting his arms on the table, he slumps forward and Destiny reaches over to give his wrist a tiny, comforting squeeze. He places a hand on top of hers and glances at her wearily, realizing with embarrassment that she’s had to bear witness to two of his meltdowns in one day.

When she flashes him a sympathetic smile, he shifts around awkwardly and darts his eyes away from hers.     

Peter runs a hand across Roman’s shoulders. “I’ll make you some food,” he says, stepping toward the kitchen.

“I’m not hungry,” Roman protests.

Destiny interjects. “Baby needs to eat, Roman.”

As if he were part of the conversation, the baby gently kicks Roman in the side, like he is in agreement with Destiny.

“Right,” Roman sighs, rubbing a hand over his stomach.

Destiny absently sips at her drink as she and Roman sit in silence, until Peter returns a few minutes later with two slices of whole grain toast and a bowl of strawberries. He sits them in front of Roman, who gazes at the meal with disinterest, before taking a seat.

The three of them sit solemnly for a few seconds, sharing intermittent glances but no one being the first to speak. Destiny lights up the obligatory “getting down to business” cigarette, while Peter takes a swig of his drink and Roman continues to stare at his plate of food.

Eventually, he picks a strawberry out of the bowl and bites the tip of it off, his face twisting into a grimace when the sour juice hits his tongue. He takes another bite, and another until he’s eaten all the way down to the stem. Tossing the remainder of the strawberry back into the bowl, he grabs another and chomps on it with relish.

Peter watches Roman eat, relief loosening the nerves in his stomach; at least he’s getting  _something_  into his system.  

Roman finishes the strawberry with a heavy sigh, flicking the stem onto his plate and leaning back in the chair.

“First, I’d like to say…I’m sorry, for losing my shit. Again,” he says quietly, his eyes avoiding them.

Peter reaches across the table, taking Roman’s hand. “You don’t have to be sorry for anything. We just wanna know what’s going on.”

“I know…” Roman replies, rubbing a hand down his belly.

Destiny takes a long drag off the cigarette, exhaling a cloud out of her nostrils before jamming the nub of it down into her empty drink glass and grabbing a strawberry for herself. She nibbles on it thoughtfully for a minute, before giving Roman a pointed look.

“Okay,” she says, her voice soft but undoubtedly serious. “Tell us again…what you said when you came downstairs. What about the baby?”

Roman glances at her, tears welling up almost immediately. He quickly sniffs them away. “She wants him.”

“Why?” Peter presses. “Why do you think that?”

“Because she can’t have _me_ ,” Roman answers simply. “I was only born with the possibility of securing her upir legacy in mind. There were babies before me, many of them. But lucky me…was the only one born with the caul.”

“The _what_?” Destiny asks.

“The caul,” Roman repeats. “It’s like a…a membrane or something over the face when you’re born. It’s a sign of upirism. I had one, so I’ve always been her golden ticket.”

“So, what happened to the others?” Destiny asks.

Roman doesn’t have to answer; the grave look she receives tells her everything, and her stomach sinks.

“That’s why Shelley is…the way she is,” Roman says quietly. “My father was grieving, couldn’t handle what Olivia had done to her. So, he asked Pryce to bring her back. And he did…in a way.”

Peter notices Destiny’s eyes widen in realization of this new bit of info. He, of course, already knew all of this, but didn’t figure it was something he had any business spreading around.

“Anyway,” Roman sighs. “Now, she’s lost me, the perfect little heir to her sick fucking kingdom. Since I’m not going to give in and surrender to my upir side, she’s the last of our bloodline...” He looks down at his swollen tummy, gently encircling it with his arm. “Or, at least that’s what she wants to find out.”

“Wait…” Peter shakes his head. “So, you’re saying she wants the baby because he might be upir? But he can’t be, I’ve _seen_ him, I dreamt—”

“That was a _dream_ , Peter,” Roman fires back, his tone much sharper than he intends it to be. “It was just a dream. I had dreams about Nadia, but those didn’t pan out, did they?”

Peter looks as if he’s just been slapped, his jaw tightly clamping shut as he cuts off the rest of his thought. Seeing Peter’s pained expression immediately makes Roman feel like an asshole, but he cares far more about the welfare of his child than whether or not he’s hurting feelings.

“I didn’t have that dream. As far as I’m concerned, it prophesizes nothing,” Roman continues. “The only thing that’s real to me is last night….because we _both_ saw it, and we know what that means.”

Roman’s eyes rest solemnly on Peter’s face, who sighs sadly, shoulders sagging in resignation. Out of everything, that was the only part of the story that made sense. Their lives were so intertwined, they couldn’t be separated even in sleep. Any dream shared between them was really a warning, a glimpse into the woeful future they’d built for themselves by being together; fated, yet cursed. 

But Peter knew without a sliver of doubt that he would choose to endure any horror that lied before him if it meant he got to be by Roman’s side. Even the most treacherous and unbearable of circumstances would pale in comparison to the heartache of being without the upir he loved so madly.

They would fight it together, always together, and find a way out of this mess, just as they had so many times before. Only this time, something much more precious was at risk.

Losing wasn’t an option, Peter decided. He wouldn’t even entertain the notion. _Nothing_ would ever touch his family, and he’d graciously lay down his own life to ensure it.

His thoughts are broken by the gentle stroke of Roman’s fingers against his hand. Peter offers him a soft smile, his heart sinking as he watches Roman’s eyes gloss over with unshed tears.

“I wanted to believe in your dream, Peter. I wanted to believe so badly that he was like you,” Roman sniffs, almost too quietly for Peter to hear. “I still do…but we don’t _know_. We can’t know. And until we do, we just have to prepare for…”

He chokes on the words, the idea of Olivia getting exactly what she’s after making it nearly impossible to breathe. His stomach churned angrily as the image formed in his mind; Olivia mercilessly tearing the baby from him, his life slowly running out as she stands over his freshly mangled body with his son clutched in her arms.

Suddenly, a pair of rough hands grabs onto both sides of his face, forcing his eyes to stare straight into Peter’s stern gaze.

“Hey,” Peter barks. “Don’t go there. You hear me? Don’t even think that.”

Roman takes a deep breath, nodding hard with compliance in Peter’s hands. Peter quickly kisses his forehead before releasing his hold on him and shooting Destiny a hard look across the table.

“Dee, is there any way we can check?” Peter asks. “I mean, if he’s upir, he’s gonna have a thing over his face, would we be able to see that on an ultrasound or something?”

Destiny sighs, lighting up another cigarette as her tired eyes settle carefully on the boys. “With my equipment, I doubt it. To see something that obscure, we’d need to give him a 3D or 4D scan, and I don’t have access to a machine with those capabilities.”

“What about the White Tower? All that advanced technical shit you’ve got there, surely you have a machine that could tell us _something_ ,” Peter says to Roman in exasperation.

Roman draws a blank face, his shoulders shrugging timidly. “I have no fucking clue, Peter,” he says quietly. “I’d have to ask Pryce, which would only make him suspicious and we don’t need him sniffing around.”

Though frustrated, Peter knew that was probably best. Aside from earning a few redemption points the day Roman had his accident at the White Tower, could Pryce _truly_ be trusted? Olivia had carried his balls in her purse for years, and though it appeared there was now some disconnect between them, allowing Pryce to get involved still seemed too risky.

It was hard telling what Olivia was already privy to. And she had to know something, Peter thought. She always did.

“Besides,” Roman sighs. “I… I don’t think I wanna know either way.”

Peter shoots him a perplexed look. “What?? Why not?”

“If we’re gonna figure out how to stop this, I don’t want to do it with his fate already decided,” Roman says. “If he _is_ upir, and I _know_ that he is…I can’t handle what that will mean for him if we fail. By not knowing, I can at least still have some hope.”

Peter shakes his head incredulously. “But if we know for sure, then we can know what it is we’re protecting him from; being Olivia’s little upir spawn or being killed because he’s not.”

“Like one is worse than the other?!” Roman screeches, his eyes going wild. “I _lived_ that, Peter! I know what she’s fucking capable of, what she could turn him into! Do you have idea how many fucking times in my life I’ve considered just… _offing_ myself, so she couldn’t have what she wanted from me?”

The color drains from Peter’s face, his expression distorting like he’s just taken a blow to the gut. “Don’t say that…” he says quietly.

“But I _can’t_ do that! You know why?” Roman continues hotly. “If I kill myself, I become full upir. And Olivia wins.”

Destiny’s alarmed eyes meet Peter’s from across the table, and all he can do is offer a solemn nod of confirmation. He runs a hand down his face, a migraine beginning to fester in the front of his skull.

“I thought by fighting against her, I was maintaining at least some control…that I had the upper hand by not giving her what she wanted,” Roman says, his voice cracking. “A lot of good that did. She can’t have me, so she’s coming after my kid instead.”

Roman closes his eyes, letting the tears stream aimlessly down his cheeks, and Peter is immediately out of his chair. He drops to his knees in front of Roman, taking both of his hands and pressing them to his forehead.

“I’m sorry,” he says, peppering Roman’s fingers with kisses. “I’m sorry I didn’t understand.”

Roman quickly wipes the tears from his eyes before gently running his fingers through Peter’s hair. Peter leans into his touch, warmed by the comfort it brings.

Behind them, Destiny sighs, clearly worn down from the day’s anxieties. She takes a final puff off of her latest cigarette before tossing it into the empty glass with the last one.

“I think we need to take a breather, here,” she says softly, Roman and Peter turning to look at her with same fatigued expressions. “It’s been a long day…we’re all tired, we’re emotional…and we’re not gonna get anywhere that way. It’s a lot to digest, and we don’t have to solve it all at once. So, how about for now, we just let it lie and pick it up later? Let’s do something else. We can eat, play a game, talk about the wedding, the baby, anything. Let’s just…try to have a good night. Okay?”

She curses herself as the pessimistic part of her brain butts in at the end. _We may not have many nights left_.

Roman and Peter look at each other, both deciding at the exact same moment that having a “good night” sounded wonderful. It was all becoming too much anyway; there were so many questions, so many awful details and images swirling around in their minds, it was impossible to focus on any of it.

And Destiny was right. They had time to figure this all out, and they couldn’t do it rationally with emotions running so high.

Peter rises to his feet, Roman’s hand still clutched in his. “Okay.”

Roman nods in agreement, but remains seated, his expression suddenly serious.

“I just need you guys to promise me something.”

Destiny and Peter exchange worried glances before giving Roman their full attention.

“I know…this is a lot to ask. Your lives are already in danger, and it kills me that I’ve put you in this situation,” Roman says. “But…if we’re gonna fight against this, we all need to be on the same page. I trust you both with my life…and the baby’s. I’ll do _anything_ to protect him. So, promise me…whatever needs to be done to save him, you’ll do it….even if it means letting me go.”

Roman’s words hit Peter like a bullet to the chest. Angry tears spring up instantly, and he turns away for a moment to compose himself. He couldn’t lose Roman, not again. He _wouldn’t_. There had to be a way out of this, and he swore to God right then that he would find it. If it was the last thing on this Earth he would ever be able to do, he would save his family.

Slowly, he crouches down so that he’s eye-level with Roman. He has to fight to keep the rage that’s boiling inside him from bubbling up to the surface, which becomes far more difficult when he sees the pain in Roman’s face. He had half a mind to let the wolf take over, track Olivia down, and tear her apart piece by piece right now.

“I’m not gonna promise that,” Peter seethes, giving Roman a dangerous look. “I don’t _need_ to. The only thing I’ve ever promised you is that I would keep you safe, and I fucking meant it. She won’t get the chance to even come near you or that baby, because I’m gonna stop her. I’m coming for her with everything I’ve got…and I’m gonna get rid of her, for good.”

“No,” Destiny suddenly says, stomping over to stand next to them. She places a hand on each of the boys’ shoulders, looking between them with a defiant glimmer of determination that gives Peter hope for the very first time that day. “ _We_ are.”  


	27. Chapter 27

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SPOILER ALERT: Baby’s name is revealed at the end!! <3

TEN WEEKS LATER

Hand in hand, Peter and Roman watch the ultrasound screen in anticipation as their son’s image materializes before their eyes.

At 29 weeks, the baby is now a bursting ball of energy, greeting Roman several times daily with a barrage of kicks and jabs and somersaults. Roman welcomes the activity, thinking it incredible to be feeling his son growing within him.

But if the baby’s nighttime routine now was any indication of how it was going to be once he’s born, Roman knew they were in trouble. Most nights before bed, Peter spent upwards of fifteen minutes rubbing and cooing and talking to Roman’s stomach because the baby won’t settle enough to give Roman any rest.

Roman would be annoyed by it if he didn’t find Peter’s “conversations” with the baby so cute.

Destiny runs the probe all over the crown of Roman’s stomach, spreading the conductive gel thin over the mound of his flesh. The baby’s entire profile fills the screen and, as Roman can feel, he doesn’t stop wiggling for a second.

The probe is pushed in a bit deeper as Destiny tries to get a decent measurement, turning a knob on the machine so the sound of the baby’s heart can be heard beating rhythmically throughout the bedroom.

“C’mon, little dude. Move for me,” Destiny mutters to herself, repeatedly prodding Roman’s stomach with the probe.

Eventually, she hits the right spot as they watch the baby shift onto his other side and Destiny zooms in to measure the pearls of his spine. “It’s a relief to see that Rumancek stubbornness hasn’t died out yet,” she sniffs sarcastically.

Peter just smiles proudly, his eyes never once deterring from the screen. It was wild to him that in just a few weeks, their baby would be here. It seemed like it was only last week Roman told him he was pregnant. He’d never felt such an odd mixture of fear and excitement, the fear seeming to take precedence the last few months.

So far, nothing had happened, the abhorrent threat hanging over them eerily stagnant for the time being. They knew, just from what they’d seen in the dream, there was still time. But several weeks had passed quietly, and Peter’s unease was beginning to steadily climb. 

Olivia was coming for them, hell or high water; she was unwaveringly persistent in her vengeance as it was, but now that the longevity of her bloodline was in jeopardy, she would stop at nothing to see herself preserved.

He pushed the fear out of his mind in an instant. He couldn’t let himself go there, though. Not now. Right now, he was seeing his son; watching his movements, hearing his heartbeat. This was the only thing that truly mattered.

Tightening his hold on Roman’s hand, he chuckles to himself as he watches the baby wiggle all around, kicking his arms and legs about wildly. Roman turns his head to look at him with a smile so bright, it made something in his heart nearly burst.

“Look at him,” Roman says giddily before turning back to the screen.

“I’m looking,” Peter replies with a grin. He could feel the warning of tears just beneath his eyes and quickly sniffed the sensation away.

Destiny moves the probe toward the upper part of Roman’s stomach, pushing the end of it toward his rib-cage. She studies the screen carefully for a moment before bobbing her head with a satisfied nod.

“He’s head-down, which is good,” she says.

“Could he turn the other way? I mean, before birth?” Peter asks nervously.

Destiny shrugs. “There’s always a chance he could turn breech, but since he’s already in position, he’s likely to stay that way. We’ll keep an eye on it,” she explains, flashing an excited smile at Roman. “He’s getting ready!”

Roman feels his heart begin to drum with excitement as he intently watches the screen. Getting to see their baby and knowing without a shadow of a doubt that he was alright filled him with a sense of peace that had been depleting little by little since the nightmare.

In the weeks that followed, the worries and questions were constant: Where was Olivia now? Was she watching them? Had she been watching them this entire time? What if she couldn’t be stopped? What would become of their son if they failed? How much time did they really have left to figure that out?

The three of them had discussed and analyzed it all seemingly every minute of every day. They knew for absolute certain that she wanted the baby, and they knew why. That was the easy part to figure out. As far as when she was going to execute this plan of hers, there wasn’t much to go on.

They all theorized she must be planning to strike on the full moon as Peter had been turned. And Roman appeared to be just days away from birth, so it must be the full moon nearest to his due date, which made sense to them. The baby would be most developed at that point. She wouldn’t risk it being too early; a sick, weakened child would offer her nothing.

What didn’t quite match up was why she would choose the night of the full moon to begin with. She knew the wolf would come out of Peter and be hell-bent on the hunt; why would she give him the chance to stop her? No matter how many times Roman went over the details in his head, none of it made an inkling of sense.

Roman’s anxiety eventually reached such a critical state, Peter had to put his foot down and force him to put it to rest for a while. And, like Peter knew he would, Roman fought him on it.

“We need to figure this the fuck out, Peter! The baby isn’t safe. I’m supposed to be protecting him, and I don’t even know how!” Roman had yelled when Peter asked him to cool it. “If we know what she’s planning to do, when she’s planning to do it, we can strike her at the right time and finally put an end to her miserable fucking existence! I mean, c’mon, Peter! Think of our son!”

“I _am_ thinking of our son! And I’m telling you, all of this pressure you’re putting on yourself to take down your fucking mom is no better for him than she would be!” Peter shot back. “Don’t you get that? You’re not eating right, you’re not sleeping, you’re not doing anything but agonizing over this dream!”

Roman’s eyes narrowed dangerously, his anger erupting. “HE’S MY _BABY_ , PETER!!”

“He’s my baby, too!!” Peter spat. “And I know you’re trying to keep him safe, but you can’t take care of him if you’re not taking care of yourself! You are _pregnant_ ; he is _inside of you_. What affects you affects him, Roman, and you’re not doing so hot! So, all of this worry, all of this stress, what do you think it’s gonna do to him?”

Roman had started crying by then, realizing Peter was right and feeling ashamed that he’d spent so much time worrying about how to protect his son in the future while failing to do so now, when he actually still could.

Peter was holding him instantly, knowing all Roman needed was to be comforted and assured that everything would be work out in the end. And though he had promised him at least a dozen times that he would put an end to Olivia’s reign, there was a small, terrified part of him that questioned whether it was truly possible.

He shook the doubt from his thoughts as he cradled his fiancé. Of course, she could be stopped, and she would be. Even if it killed him to do it.

Destiny readily agreed to shifting their focus away from Olivia for a while. She knew, more than anyone, how damaging such extreme stress could be to both Roman and the baby. She ordered that they have weekly checkups from here on out, just so she could monitor things more closely.

Peter and Roman couldn’t argue with that. It was both a relief and a joy getting to see the baby every week. He was only thing in their lives that felt right.

“Okay, hold your breath for me,” Destiny tells Roman, pressing a button on the machine to capture a few new pictures for them.

Once the photos start printing out of the machine, she removes the probe from Roman’s stomach and replaces it with a clean linen towel. Peter helps Roman clean himself up as Destiny shuts down her equipment.

Roman pulls his shirt down over the mass of his tummy and he and Destiny share a hesitant look.

“Here comes your favorite part…” Destiny sighs.

Roman replies with a groan and automatically spreads his legs open. He’d removed his pants and underwear when they arrived in anticipation for this moment, and though Destiny’s had much more contact with him down there than he cared to think about, he still hadn’t gotten used to these examinations.

It was little consolation to realize that she hadn’t even seen the  _worst_ of that area yet.

“Here,” Destiny says, snapping on a pair of latex gloves and pulling a chair over to the foot of the mattress. “Slide down here for me.”

Roman sits up and bit and tries to scoot across bed on his bare butt, feeling a sudden and overwhelming surge of bashfulness. He sticks his legs straight out.

“Just grab my ankles and pull,” he tells her.

“No way. You’re too big,” she pops off in protest.

Roman’s eye narrow at her defensively. “First of all, ouch,” he says. “Second of all—“

Destiny rolls her eyes and wraps her hands around his ankles. “Oh, come here, you baby…”

Peter chuckles at the sight of Destiny, straining and grunting with the herculean effort it takes to pull Roman’s giant frame down to her, and with very little progress. With a huff, she shoots Peter an aggravated look.

“You know, you  _could_  help me!” she scoffs.

“Oh, I know,” Peter replies with a cheeky smile, hopping off of the bed to Destiny’s aid.

Each of them grabs an ankle and, to Destiny’s annoyance, pulls with ease until Roman’s bottom half hangs off the end of the bed.

Roman’s head pops up to look at them, barely able to be seen over the mound of his belly. “That was fun,” he quips.

“Oh, I’m _so_  glad,” Destiny sniffs, plopping down in the chair and scooting closer to the bed. “Now, shut your mouth and open your legs.”

Reluctantly, Roman lifts and spread his legs apart, resting his heels on the edge of the bed. He lets out a heavy sigh, making sure his annoyance is clear to everyone in the room. Peter takes his place next to him on the bed, looking down at him sympathetically. Roman just rolls his eyes to the ceiling and tries to focus on anything else.

Destiny retrieves the little medical cart with her examination lamp and other supplies stashed in the corner of the room and sits it next to her. She turns on the lamp and positions herself between Roman’s legs.

“You ready?” she asks Roman.

“I guess…” Roman replies.

Destiny maneuvers the light to shine where she needs it to and reaches her hands between Roman’s thighs. She grazes his pubic area and Roman flinches hard at the touch.

“You’re okay,” she soothes. “Just relax. I know this is uncomfortable.”

 _Stop being such a fucking wuss, Godfrey,_ he thought.  _You have to birth an entire baby soon and you can’t even handle this? Pathetic._

Peter gives him a tiny smile and runs his fingers through his hair. “You’re golden, man. It’s alright.”

It still amazed Roman sometimes just how easy it was for Peter to calm him like this. They could be dangling over a pit of molten lava, seconds away from plunging to their imminent deaths, and Roman would be totally accepting of such a fate as long as Peter told him it was “okay”.

When had he turned into such a sap? He could answer that one pretty easily: As soon as he laid eyes on Peter Rumancek.

Roman feels Destiny’s fingers gently prod his perineum and his knees immediately lock up. His cheeks flush bright red and he looks to Peter with unease, who takes hold of Roman’s hand and squeezes it tightly.

 _That_  was the part that freaked him out the most, giving birth. Destiny had briefly mentioned once that they needed to form a “birth plan”, whatever that was. But as of yet, no discussion of the sort had taken place. The plan to prevent Olivia from killing them seemed to take the front seat these days.

Of course, he knew how the baby would… _come out_ ; he sort of paid attention in sex-ed. And once Roman had successfully entered his second trimester, Destiny took the liberty of explaining the process in explicit detail one afternoon.

But after listening to her spiel, Roman was fairly certain that having this baby would both physically and psychologically scar him for life.

He and Peter sat closely next to each other, both so overwhelmed by the medical talk and graphic images filling their heads, they could barely look at each other. Honestly, they found it more embarrassing that they were even embarrassed in the first place.

“So…” Roman finally muttered at one point, pinching the bridge of his nose. “My dick is gonna—“

“No,” Destiny interrupted impatiently. “Forget about your dick. I told you, it has nothing to do with that.”

“I can’t just forget about my dick, it’s  _down there,_ where the baby's coming out. I mean, won’t it be in the way or…get torn off or something??”

“Great question,” Peter interjected nervously.

“Oh my God…” Destiny muttered with a roll of her eyes. "That's not going to happen. Okay? In the last few weeks of your third trimester, the baby will descend the birth canal. Descend means 'go down', are you with me so far?"

"Yes," Peter sniffed sarcastically.

"Good. Now, as the baby moves down and gets into position for delivery, your perineum will dilate."

She was met with blank looks from both boys, Roman's face growing paler by the second as his hands came to encompass his stomach.

"Wait… Are you talking about 'The Devil's Driveway'?" Peter asked, his brow furrowed.

Destiny blinked at him incredulously, honestly unable to tell if he was trying to be funny. She studied him for a minute and realized, sadly, that he was not.

"You mean what it's actually called? Yes."

“It’s called a ‘perineum’? Huh…” Peter trailed off, mulling over this new bit of information.

“ _Anyway…_ ” Roman cleared his throat, giving Peter a slanted look.

“Anyway,” Destiny repeated. “Once labor starts, the perineum will dilate with your contractions, just like the cervix of a woman. For men, the perineum _is_  the cervix, essentially. And then, when you reach ten centimeters, it’ll be time to push.”

Roman thought that sounded like the most horrific thing in the world. Up until this point, he’d been far too occupied worrying that this pregnancy would end like the last one, and he hadn’t given the actual birth of said child much thought.

But the baby was coming, and he had to brace himself for what was to come. And what was to come seemed like something out a science fiction nightmare. How would he even begin to prepare for such a thing?  

 _People do this, literally, every day,_ he told himself _. If it was really that bad, no one would do it! Besides, you’re Roman Godfrey; you can do anything._

The truth, however, lay buried deeply underneath that self-assurance _._ Roman Godfrey was clueless…and scared out of his mind.

“You’ll deliver your placenta shortly after the baby’s born, and once that’s out…you’ve made it through delivery, and we’ll go from there,” Destiny explained. “I know, it’s a lot, and we’ll go over it as much you need to. But for now…got any questions?”

The boys sat silently for a moment, their heads spinning as they tried to absorb all they’d been told. She was right; it  _was_  a lot, and neither was sure they had a handle on any of it just yet. Mostly, though, they just wanted the conversation to be over for now.

“Okay!” Destiny said, clapping her hands. “Well, I guess now we can—“

“I do have one question actually…” Roman cleared his throat. Both Destiny and Peter turned their heads to him curiously. “Why do they call it ‘The Devil’s Driveway’?”

Peter immediately started laughing and with that, Destiny promptly stood up, and walked out of the room.

Roman’s mind is brought back to the situation at hand as he feels Destiny give his nether regions one final poke before sitting back up in her seat and removing her latex gloves.

“Well, you’re dilated to _maybe_  one-fourth of a centimeter, if that,” she says. “Which is good. I mean, even if you were at a one already, that wouldn’t be a big deal. Just something we’d have to keep an eye on. Otherwise, everything looks good! So, for the love of God, put your pants back on.”

With a push from Peter, Roman awkwardly rocks himself up into a seated position, panting at the effort it takes just to move. As Peter retrieves Roman’s pants, Destiny leaves the bedroom to give them some privacy.

“You doin’ okay?” Peter asks.

“Yeah,” Roman huffs. “Just…baby’s up in my ribs now. Not as easy to breathe.”

“You need help?” Peter holds out Roman’s boxers and jeans to him.

Roman shakes his head. “No… Actually, yeah. Pull me up.”

Peter grabs hold of Roman’s hands and carefully pulls him to his feet. Once standing, Roman stretches out with a groan, arching his back so far that his belly is practically in the air. Peter holds his boxers open, and Roman places a hand on Peter’s shoulder to balance himself as he steps into them.

If they weren’t a team before, they certainly were now. Roman was now big enough to not be able to bend down properly, and Peter usually had to help him dress his lower half. Roman’s pride prevented him from asking for assistance for a couple of weeks, but when he got winded just trying to slip on a pair of shoes one morning, he knew it was time.

Now, he wasn’t sure he could even get his pants on  _without_  Peter.

Roman pulls the elastic band now sewn into the waistband of his jeans snuggly around his belly, trying to hide the fact that he can’t catch his breath. Peter’s brows rise with concern.

“You good?”

“Yeah,” Roman nods, inhaling deeply. “I’m good.”

Peter retrieves the ultrasound photos from the machine and slips them into his shirt pocket before taking Roman’s hand and leading him out of the bedroom. They make their way through the living room and into the kitchen where Destiny is scribbling away in a notebook.

She’d kept a log of his entire pregnancy, updating it after every appointment so she would have a record of his progress and something to reference during delivery if need be. Peter helps hoist Roman onto one of the kitchen stools at the island counter before taking a seat beside him.

Still writing, Destiny glances up at them. “Well, the baby’s grown a couple of inches since last time, which is excellent. And you’re finally gaining some weight!”

“Awesome…” Roman says flatly, looking down at his stomach.

“It  _is_  awesome,” Destiny replies, flipping a page in her notebook and looking at them with a smile. “He looks great, guys. I mean, he’s right where he needs to be. I’m very pleased with the progress. Just a few more weeks to go!”

The boys glance at each other, Roman’s hand easily slipping into Peter’s with a nervous flutter of a smile. Peter smiles back, his own anxious excitement written plainly on his face.

“Alright, I know we’ve been a bit occupied, but you’re in the home stretch now and we need to iron out your birth plan,” Destiny says. “Now, some general guidelines of how I do things. Most of the clients I’ve dealt with hire a midwife because they would prefer to deliver at home. However, some people want to be in a hospital, but still want the services of a midwife rather than an OB. So, whichever route you wanna take, you’ll have me either way. I’m licensed to deliver in any hospital in the state, we can go anywhere.”

Roman clears his throat. “See, that’s kind of been my whole thing. I didn’t want to go to a doctor to begin with. Too many people would get involved and then my business would go straight to… _her_.”

He would barely say his mother’s name anymore, refusing to give her even an ounce of humanity. She was nothing more to him than a monster who needed to be stopped, and he would pay any price to ensure her downfall. 

“I don’t trust anyone with this baby but you,” Roman looks at Destiny solemnly. “I’m having him at home.”

Destiny nods slowly, gazing at Roman intensely. “Okay… but anything can happen during birth. And if things end up going more south than I’m equipped to handle, we might not have a choice.”

“I understand,” Roman replies, his face hard as stone.

Peter rests a hand on the small of Roman’s back. “Where would you want to go…if it comes to that?” he asks quietly.

Roman is silent for a moment, losing himself in quiet contemplation. He doesn’t even want to consider the possibility of something going wrong, but he has to be realistic. Things have been slowly going down the shitter for weeks now, why should the birth of his son, the most important moment of his life, go any differently?

Of course, something would happen; that was the way their world worked now. There would always be a price attached to their happiness. A very cynical part of him wondered why they were bothering with this in the first place. She would get to them before…

_No. Stop it. Remember what Peter promised you._

He did remember, and he had more faith in Peter than he had in anything else in this world. But his fear was ever present, and he couldn’t entirely shake it.

He felt a tiny nudge in his side, followed by a hard kick as the baby shifted around inside him, and somehow, he knew this was his son’s way of telling him to stop worrying, of assuring him that everything would be alright in the end. The baby kicked again, and he rested a firm hand on his belly.

_Okay, okay… You win, kid._

Roman finally sighed an answer. “The White Tower, I guess.”

Both Peter and Destiny snapped to attention, their eyes bulging at him in surprise.

“Whatever you need, as far as supplies, equipment… we have everything a hospital would,” Roman explains.

Peter begins to nervously drum his fingers against the countertop. “What about Pryce? What if he’s there?”

“What’s he gonna do? Tell me I can’t use my own building?” Roman smirks. “Besides…he’s helped me out before. Ya know, when I fell… And babies aren’t really his forte, so I don’t think he’ll be in the way.”

Destiny bites down on her lip as she scribbles something down in her notes. She laces her fingers together into a little table to rest her chin on as she warily looks at Roman. “The thing about that is…I don’t know if I have clearance for that facility. I mean, I’m sure I can get it, but—“

Roman waves a dismissive hand. “It’s done,” he gives her a playful smile. “You carry me in there, screaming my head off and about to pop out a kid, you’ll get clearance.”

Destiny shakes her head with a chuckle. “Sometimes I forget the connections you have, Mr. Godfrey.”

Roman shrugs lazily, his eyes seeming to darken with lethargy. “Money talks, that’s all.”

Beside him, Peter is beginning to feel restless as his legs bounce off the leg of the barstool. He didn’t like the direction this conversation was going. They wouldn’t have a need for the White Tower, there would be no Plan B.

Enough had gone wrong the past year to last him and Roman a lifetime. Couldn’t God give them a break, even for just five minutes? Trying to figure out Olivia’s bullshit was taking enough of a toll on him; he couldn’t even let himself think of something going wrong during the baby’s birth.

He’d protect his family by taking Olivia down once and for all, just like he’d promised. Roman would have a safe, easy delivery, and their son was going to be born perfect. Everything would be okay, it just  _had_  to be.

He feels Roman’s hand settle on his knee and he his jitters immediately cease. He glances at Roman, fighting to appear way less anxious than he felt on the inside. Roman gives his leg a comforting squeeze, his eyes trailing Peter’s face with concern. Peter smiles and distractedly runs a hand across Roman’s belly.   

“‘Preferably a home birth’, okay,” Destiny mumbles as she jots down more notes. “There are a lot of options there too, actually. Some people opt for a water birth, as that typically makes labor a bit more manageable and can sometimes provide a tranquil environment for the baby.”

Peter’s face scrunches in confusion. “So…what, he’d just squat down in a bathtub or something?”

“An inflatable pool,” Destiny corrects. “Provided by me, of course.”

Without even thinking about it, Roman shakes his head and says, “I already had a baby in a bathtub. Wasn’t a fan.”   

Destiny’s face goes dangerously pale as her eyes meet Roman’s, and the shame boils up in his cheeks as he realizes what he’s just said. Quickly, she looks back down at her notes and begins fervently writing something. Probably nothing of importance, just anything to escape the embarrassment she was feeling.

A queasiness settles in Roman’s stomach then and his unease doesn’t go unnoticed by Peter, who gently puts an arm around him and pulls him close. Peter presses his forehead lovingly into Roman’s temple, and the sick feeling suddenly begins to dissipate.

Destiny clears her throat and looks up at the boys, her cheeks a burning pink.

“Okay…Um… Contrary to what some may think, you’re not really limited to just one room with a home birth. Granted, the bedroom is usually the obvious choice, but I’ve delivered babies on living room couches, dining room tables….even the floor of a bathroom, though that one wasn’t planned that way. Really, it just depends on where you feel most comfortable at the time.”

The boys glance at each other with amusement. “Let’s just go ahead and take the bathroom floor off the table,” Roman smirks.

“And the kitchen table,” Peter adds.

“Suit yourself,” Destiny shrugs. “Like I said, anything can happen.”

She quickly pulls a cigarette out of the pack in her back pocket and lights as she continues jotting down things in her notebook. Taking a deep inhale off the cigarette, she gives everything she’s written so far a quick once over before abruptly taking the cigarette out of her mouth.

“Oh! Speaking of…” she says, flicking ash from the end of the cigarette. “I think it’s important to note that you may not go into labor on your own. With first babies, it’s pretty typical that I have to manually break your water so labor will start. Now, that’s not guaranteed what’ll have to happen, I’m just saying, be prepared for it.”

“You mean like…if he’s late?” Peter asks.

“Again, that just depends. Babies are unpredictable, especially first borns,” Destiny explains. “The main thing we want to do is keep him in there as close to 40 weeks as possible. Some people go over 40 weeks, and if that were to happen, then I would definitely want to induce. Sometimes, though, if the baby is getting too big, we have to induce a few weeks early. There’s no manual for how this works. Every pregnancy is different, every baby is different. The next few weeks, we’ll keep a close eye on everything, and that way, we’ll have a better idea of how to go about it when the time comes.”

The thought of labor worried Roman enough, but knowing that Destiny might have to force it to happen was downright unnerving. He had so many questions, but couldn’t find the gumption to voice any of them. They still had time, he knew. Maybe next week, he’d work himself up to actually asking them.

“Any questions…for right now, anyway?” Destiny asks. 

Peter and Roman mechanically shake their heads “no”, her plethora of clinical jargon still spinning like a raging twister around them. At their frenzied expressions, Destiny smiles warmly at them.

“It’ll be okay, guys. Really. I know it sounds really fucking scary, and it will be at first. But trust me, this is the most natural thing in the world. And I will do everything in my power to make sure your baby comes in the safest way possible.”

They nod, this time in understanding. Roman’s hands encircle his belly as the baby starts kicking again. “That’s good…” Roman says quietly. “Thank you.”

Destiny smiles, flipping her notebook closed. “Alright. Baby Club is adjourned for now. We’ll check back with him next week.”

Peter hops up off of the barstool and grabs Roman’s hand as he tries to lower himself from his seat. Once he’s standing, Peter retrieves his sport jacket and assists him in putting it on. Destiny leans back against the stove, watching them as she finishes off her cigarette.

“Aww…” she coos. “You two make me sick.”

Peter offers her a playful sneer as places the jacket over Roman’s shoulders.

“Don’t worry,” Roman quips. “After Saturday, the honeymoon’s probably gonna be over.”

“Well, in that case, I fucking hereby cancel this wedding,” Peter kids as he grabs onto Roman’s hand.

“Oh!” Destiny startles, tossing her cigarette butt in the sink. “I meant to tell you, Roman, I went to that wedding boutique the other day. You know, the one in Langdon we looked up? Anyway, I found some _beautiful_ stuff there. I think you’re gonna love the décor I have planned, I can’t wait!”

Peter eyes her warily. “You just didn’t go _too_ crazy, right Dee?”

Destiny gives him a pointed look. “When have I ever?” she says dryly. “Besides, you appointed me ‘decorator’, and I’m gonna fucking decorate.”

“Yeah, Peter,” Roman sniffs, and Peter just rolls his eyes.

“So, I guess I’ll see you Friday!” Destiny claps. “Still 3:00, right?”

“Still 3:00,” Roman reiterates.

Destiny nods as she once again grabs for the pack of cigarettes in her pocket.

“God, I can’t believe you guys are getting married in 3 days! And then, you’re gonna be parents…” she lights the cigarette in her mouth, her smile slowly fading as her eyes trail off into the distance. “Fuck, I feel old.”

~*~*~*~

Peter drives with his hand resting firmly on Roman’s belly. Neither of them has said much since leaving Destiny’s, but in this moment, they don’t feel the need to.

For the first time in weeks, they felt absolutely _content_. The baby was doing great and growing like a weed, their wedding was just days away, and soon they’d officially be starting their life together. It was an immense weight off of their shoulders feeling, if only for a moment, as if their world wasn’t just seconds away from collapsing.

The baby gives Roman an abrupt kick and Peter starts to chuckle in the driver’s seat.

“You feel that?” Roman smiles.

“Yeah,” Peter grins. “Strong little thing, isn’t he?”

“A little too strong sometimes, yeah,” Roman rubs at his side.

Peaceful silence falls between them again as they drive along. It was mid-March, and winter was finally drawing to a close as spring made its way to Hemlock Grove. The arrival of spring initially made the boys nervous, as they knew what it would eventually bring.

But for the time being, Roman decided to be gracious for the nicer weather. Their wedding was to take place outside, and the forecast called for sunny skies and temperatures in the upper 50’s. Roman prayed it would stay that way, though he knew the weather was particularly fickle this time of year.

Peter gently caresses Roman’s stomach as the baby continues to kick and move around, before giving Roman a serious look.

“What?” Roman narrows his eyes.

“You know… we should probably give him a name,” Peter answers.

The statement is simple, but it hits Roman like a truck. He and Peter had just begun the baby name search when the nightmare happened and took all of their attention. The baby was due to arrive in two months, maybe sooner, and they didn’t have the slightest clue what they were going to call him. He’d named Nadia barely three months into his pregnancy, but with this baby, he’d drawn an absolute blank.

Once again, Roman felt ashamed for focusing more on Olivia than the future of his child. His nose burned with oncoming tears, but he sniffed them away before answering Peter.

“Yeah, we should,” he said. “I mean, we had a few ideas, but none of them really seemed to grab us. And honestly, I…I haven’t really given it much thought. How great of a parent am I gonna be, huh?

Peter shakes his head. “You’ve had a lot on your mind. We both have.”

Roman stares vacantly out the windshield as they drive along, dozens of boy names swirling around in his head, but none of them speaking to him. He tries to think back on the ones he and Peter had discussed months ago.

“Uh… God, I don’t even remember the ones we thought about,” Roman sighs, running a hand through his hair. “I wanna say Ryan was one of them?”

“Ryan was one of them,” Peter concurs. “But then we thought ‘Ryan Rumancek’ was a little too heavy on the ‘R’. I mentioned Abel, and you shot that to hell real quick.”

Roman rolls his eyes. “Well, what the hell is an ‘Abel’, anyway? It’s like we’re saying he’s _able_ to do something. Able to do…what? It’s a word; it’s not a name.”

Peter just shakes his head. “Okay, okay. Fair point,” he laughs. “Let’s see… There was Connor, Jack, Andrew…and to all of those, we said--”

“No, no, no…” Roman leans his head against the back of the seat with a groan. “I loved Nadia’s name… This was so much easier with a girl. Girls’ names are prettier.”

“Well, yeah… They’re _girls_.”

“You know, I’m kind of surprised you didn’t wanna name him after your grandfather… Nicolae?” Roman says.

Peter is quiet for a moment, steadily drumming his fingers against the steering wheel.

“I thought about that,” he admits. “Nicolae was the most influential man in my life, and if anyone should have a namesake, it’s him. But, as much as he meant to me…I want our kid to have a name that’s his, ya know? His own identity that he can make a mark on the world with. I mean, that’s what Nicolae did…and this baby has that blood in his veins. That’ll be enough.”

Roman smiles warmly at Peter, reaching over to grab his hand. Peter returns the smile, lifting Roman’s hand to his lips and placing a soft kiss to his knuckles. He brings Roman’s hand to rest in his lap.

“Anyway, uh… I have been thinking, the past couple of weeks or so,” Peter says. “And there actually is a name that keeps popping out at me.”

Roman looks to Peter anxiously. “Really? What is it?”

“Now, if you totally hate it, I get it, I’ll think of something else…” Peter stammers. “I mean, it’s not a real popular name—”

“Oh, my God, Peter. Out with it…”

“Okay…” Peter hesitates, taking a deep breath. “It’s…Luca.”

It takes Roman a moment to process it. Peter was right, it certainly wasn’t a popular name. In fact, he wasn’t sure he’d ever heard of someone with such a name.

“Luca?” Roman repeats.

“Yeah… It’s, uh, much more common in the Romani faith. It means ‘bringer of light’,” Peter explains. “It’s different, and I just thought it fit, you know? We’ve had a lot of heartache this year… a lot of darkness. And…ever since you told me you were pregnant, I’ve just felt that darkness drive away, little by little.”

Over and over, Roman says it in his mind – _Luca, Luca, Luca_ – and it’s the only name they’ve talked about that has caught him at all. The meaning Peter has put behind it compels him even more. Their baby needed a name with purpose, and if bringing light back into their life wasn’t a damn good one, he wasn’t sure what was.

“What about a middle name?” Roman asks.

“Well, I thought…Alexander. Only spelled like A-L-E-K-S-A-N-D-E-R,” Peter shrugs. “I don’t know… I just think it’s a cool spelling.”

“Luca Aleksander Rumancek,” Roman tries the name out just for size, and it immediately brightens his face with a smile. “I love it.”

“What?” Peter blanches. “You do?”

“Yes!” Roman says. “Like you said, it’s different, it’s unique…it’s _cute_. And it means something to us…I really do love it.”

When Peter looks at him, he’s grinning from ear to ear, his cheeks flushed pink. “So…is that his name?”

Roman runs a hand down his belly. “Yeah…that’s his name.”

Though he’s still driving, Peter quickly leans over and places a hasty kiss on Roman’s lips before resting a hand on the crown of his stomach.

“Hey, Luca,” Peter coos. “You just stay in there and keep getting stronger, okay? We’re here waiting for you on the other side, little man.”


	28. Chapter 28

“Dee, I think that’s plenty of lights… We’re not trying to flag down a plane,” Peter says as he watches Destiny wrap yet another strand of twinkle lights around a tree in Roman’s backyard.

The sun was finally setting on the evening before the wedding, and Destiny was finishing up her debut as a decorator with enough lights to disturb the blind. After much debate, Peter and Roman decided it would be so much easier and cost effective to get married at the house.

Having the ceremony in a church made no sense to them, as Roman didn’t claim any kind of religion, and Peter’s faith often yo-yoed between committed practice and none at all. They were also leery of the attention this kind of affair might attract. News of a Godfrey/Rumancek marriage would certainly peak the town’s interest, and the boys wanted to keep as many prying eyes at bay as possible.

Especially those that could put them right on Olivia’s radar. As long as they stayed hidden, they were safe. At least for now.  

It finally dawned on them that they had been sitting on the perfect venue this entire time. Along with the house, Roman had purchased the fifteen acres behind it, ensuring he got the utmost privacy and seclusion. By staying in, they would be keeping others out, and could make this wedding as outlandish or intimate as they wanted.

The yard itself was open, but surrounded by Flowering Dogwood trees of all sizes that were now starting to bud out with the impending spring. That would be really pretty, Peter thought, and held out hope that maybe some of them would blossom by the morning.

Tables for the meal they were having catered and chairs for the few guests they invited had already been set up in a circle around the yard, and Destiny had attacked them all in a fury of lights and lace and candles. Gazing around, Peter wondered if the amount of electricity surging through this place would be enough to set it ablaze. _That_ would be just what their wedding needed.

The concern worked its way to the back of his mind, though, as he stood back and finally took it all in. When Destiny and Lynda rolled up nearly four hours ago, armed to the teeth with boxes full of decorations, wooden benches and a homemade alter for the ceremony, and dozens of other trinkets, Peter felt his anxiety begin to simmer as he wondered just what in the hell they’d gotten themselves into. But now that he was looking at it, he had to say he was pleasantly surprised. Aside from all the lights, Destiny took a minimalist approach with the décor, but still managed to make it look elegant and classy.

With a final tug on the strand of lights, Destiny connects the plug-ins together and smiles with satisfaction as the tree ignites with all the others, illuminating the backyard.

She turns to Peter with a smirk. “What are you even doing out here?” she scoffed. “Where’s Roman? He’s supposed to be my second in command.”

Peter folds his arms and measures Destiny with a scowl. “ _Roman_ is seven months pregnant and needs to be taking it easy, not running ragged trying to reignite your failed dreams as a wedding planner.”

Destiny expression blanches in surprise, an amused smile playing across her lips. “Ouch. Retract the claws a little bit… I thought Roman was gonna take on the role of Bridezilla.”

“Sorry…” Peter sighs. “It really does look great, Dee. You’ve done an amazing job… I’m just worried.”

“About?” Destiny inquires as she continues to fiddle with the lights.

“I don’t know… Everything?” Peter says.

Destiny trots over to one of the tables to straighten the lace tablecloth that’s draped over it, and Peter follows meekly behind her.

“You sure it’s not just cold feet?” Destiny asks. “That’s pretty typical, Peter.”

“No. It’s not cold feet,” Peter says sternly. “I love Roman, I want to marry him. There’s no questioning that.”

“But…?” Destiny pushes.

“But… I do need this wedding to go okay,” Peter answers. “No, more than okay, it has to be perfect…for Roman’s sake. I mean, I can’t take much more going wrong, but Roman sure as hell can’t, okay? With fucking Olivia sniffing us out and the baby—”

“Peter,” Destiny whips around, clutching Peter’s shoulders in a stiff grip. “Tomorrow _will_ be perfect, alright? Look, we’ve got it all decorated, the food and the music is booked, everyone has their fancy duds, we’re good. This thing’s gonna go off without a hitch. Well, _one_ hitch.” She smiles coyly.

“But what if—”

“No,” she interrupts with a stern shake of her head. “I know where you’re going, and I’m telling you…don’t you dare. Nothing is going to happen, I won’t let it. Just enjoy your wedding, Peter, you deserve it. You both do.”

Peter considers this as Destiny smiles at him warmly, giving his shoulders a reassuring squeeze. He wants to believe her, but realistically, how can he? Every bit of good fortune they were blessed with seemed to come at a price.

Tomorrow was supposed to be “the happiest day of their lives”; why in the world would life decide to go smoothly on a day like that?

He tried to keep a positive attitude, especially the last couple of weeks when Roman’s own nerves were starting to get the better of him. It was more excitement than it was anything, as he’d spent most of his time fluttering from one thing to the next, all the while consulting with Destiny. Peter tried to be helpful, but it was made fairly clear from the beginning that his opinion wasn’t valued much, at least not by Destiny or his mother. As much as he hated to admit it, he was actually okay with being left out; the stress of planning a wedding almost didn’t seem worth it. But he would never tell Roman that.

It wasn’t just the wedding that was weighing on his mind. The surprise he planned for Roman tonight would be here any minute, and he hoped and prayed it went well. He couldn’t imagine that it wouldn’t, but knowing how well everything else had been--

“You listening to me?” Destiny says, waving a hand in front of his blank face.

“Yeah,” he blinks, running a hand uneasily through his hair.

Destiny steps back from him and gazes out over the back yard, her hands resting on her hips as she marvels at her handy work. Peter turns around also and the two of them stand in silent observation. Seeing it all lit up was beautiful, Peter had to admit. It almost seemed magical, and he supposed that tomorrow night, once he and Roman were finally united as one, it truly would be.

“So, you really think it looks okay?” Destiny asks, biting her lip skeptically.

“Yeah!” Peter says, sliding an arm around her shoulders. “Yeah, it looks great.”

“I mean, like… I know it’s a _lot_ of lights. But I like lights, ya know, because they’re so pretty and I just thought—”

“It’s gorgeous, Dee. Really,” Peter says sincerely, and she gives him a sheepish smile. “It’s perfect.”

Destiny wraps her arms around Peter’s torso, squeezing him into a hug that makes his ribs ache. He playfully pushes her off and she chuckles as her attention is drawn once again to one of the table cloths.

“I just hope the alter stays up. I’m kinda worried about leaving it overnight,” she frets.

“I’m sure it’ll be fine. It’s not that far out,” Peter says. “Getting married in the woods seems like a great idea now, huh?”

Destiny gives him a pointed look. “Um, yes, it _is_ a great idea. I mean, hell, you guys _met_ in the woods… You can’t get much more romantic and corny than that.”

Peter shoots her a sarcastic sneer as he fiddles with one of the candles Destiny has set out on the table. Without even looking up, Destiny takes it out of his hand and sets it back in its place. Peter takes a step back and leaves Destiny to her piddling.

“Oh, it’s beautiful!”

Peter and Destiny jump at the sudden voice and whip around to find Lynda handing the back door of the house, staring out at the yard in awe.

Destiny holds her arms like she’s the hostess of a gameshow. “It ain’t half bad, is it?”

“It’s so pretty, I love it!” Lynda exclaims. “Dee, I think maybe you’ve finally found your calling!”

“Out of how many?” Peter smirks under his breath, earning a smack in the arm.

“You guys about wrapped up out here? We almost got dinner on the table.”

“Okay, Ma! We’re coming,” Peter calls, and Lynda nods before disappearing back into the house.

Grabbing onto Destiny’s arm, Peter pulls her away from the table cloth. Begrudgingly, she lets him drag her toward the house, her attention still fixed on the task she’s leaving behind.

“Should we turn off all the lights?” she asks.

“Eh,” Peter shrugs, indifferent. Lynda was right, it was pretty. And truthfully, he didn’t want it to go away just yet.

“I guess we know where Roman disappeared to now,” she says.

“Yeah,” Peter scoffs. “He better get used to it, too, because mommy-in-law Lynda will always be lurking.”

“Poor bastard…”

With a final glance at the yard, Peter follows Destiny through the back door into the house. The two of them saunter into the kitchen, where Lynda is stirring a big pot on the stove while Roman is sitting glasses full of ice around the table.   

“Ooooh… Is that Great-Gramma Della’s famous Italian Wedding soup I smell??” Destiny squeals, the enticing aroma leading her to Lynda’s side.

“You know it,” Lynda winks. “I thought it seemed appropriate.”

As Peter makes his way over to the table, Roman looks up at him with a flirtatious smile.

“How’s it looking out there?” Roman asks, placing soup bowls in front of the glasses.

Peter comes up behind Roman, wrapping his arms around him to cradle his belly. “Pretty good,” he replies, kissing Roman’s neck. “Not as good as _you_ , though.”

Roman stifles a laugh as Peter kisses his neck once more. “Oh, what the kiss-ass you are.”

“It’s true!” Peter insists, resting his chin on Roman’s shoulder. “Seriously, though…Dee did an awesome job.”

“Yeah, and you’d know that if Lynda didn’t kidnap you from me,” Destiny pipes up, giving Lynda a light smack on the arm.

“Hey, until he has that baby, he’s not lifting a finger under my watch. That’s what you two dipsticks are for,” Lynda retorts.

“Your mother just called you a dipshit,” Destiny calls to Peter.

Lynda swats Destiny on the butt with a dish towel. “Hush it!” She then grips the big pot by both handles and hoists off of the stovetop. “Well, sit down! Sit down, let’s eat!”

Peter pulls out the chair at Roman’s designated spot at the dinner table and holds onto the small of Roman’s back for an added sense of balance as he carefully lowers himself into the seat.

“Here, Ma… I got it, sit down,” Peter says, holding his arms out for pot. With a huff, Lynda passes the hefty pot onto her son and flops down in a chair as Peter places the pot in the center of the table.

Destiny brings up the rear, carrying a big pitcher of freshly brewed iced tea and a bottle of expensive scotch she snagged from Roman’s liquor cabinet. Lynda is on her feet again, taking the pitcher from Destiny and going around the table, filling everyone’s glasses. Peter just sighs; his mother has never been able to sit still, and he doesn’t know why he tries to make her.

Sitting down at the table, Destiny pours a hearty swig of the scotch into her glass before allowing Lynda to fill the rest of it with tea.

“By all means, help yourself,” Peter sniffs sarcastically.

Destiny ignores the guff, holding up the bottle as an offer. “You want some?”

Peter’s eye catches the clock in the corner of the living room, his stomach twisting uneasily as realizes what time it is. When they talked yesterday, Norman assured Peter that everything had been ironed out on his end, and they’d be over before 7:00.

It was nearing a quarter to 7:00 now, and Peter could feel his heart begin to drum nervously with each passing second.

Peter had debated this for weeks, not whether he should go through with his idea, but if Norman would be someone safe. Despite the sordid past he shared with Olivia, Roman had decided his uncle could be trusted, and though Peter still had his doubts about him, he didn’t know who else he could turn to for this.

Norman still had a foot in the doorway of the life Roman left behind, and if anyone could wrangle something past Olivia, it would probably be him.  _It’ll be fine_ , Peter told himself.  _Roman is going to be so happy, it’ll all be worth it._

In Peter’s mind, it was the only acceptable wedding gift…the one thing Roman had been yearning months for.

“Actually…yeah, give it here,” Peter sighs, and Destiny slides the bottle over to him from her spot across the table. Peter dumps at least a shot’s worth into his drink and gulps down half of it.

Roman eyes him uneasily. “You okay?”

Setting his glass back down on the table, Peter just flashes him a superficial smile as his hand comes to rest on Roman’s knee. “Yep…I’m good.”

Roman’s suspicion remains plastered on his face, his gaze studying Peter carefully until Lynda squeezes herself between them to start ladling soup into their bowls.

“Lynda, seriously…” Peter says, grabbing the ladle out of her hand. “Sit down, I think we can handle it. You’ve done more than enough.”

Without missing a beat, Lynda snatches the ladle back. “Well, excuse me if I’d like to coddle and fuss over my baby one last time before he becomes a  _married man_ … Because then, you’ll be Roman’s problem.”

“He’s been Roman’s problem the last two years. Where have you been?” Destiny snorts, taking another swig of tea.

“Very true,” Roman confirms with a nod.

“Either way…” Lynda says. “Sit down, shut up, and let Mommy get your food.”

Roman and Destiny stifle their laughter as Peter holds his hands up in surrender and lets Lynda fill their bowls and their glasses. He even stays quiet when she tidies up the back of his hair as she walks past him. His stomach growls urgently as the soup’s steaming aroma wafts into his face, and he’s about to plow into it when he feels his phone vibrate in his jeans.

Conspicuously, he pulls the phone from his pocket to see a text from Norman. His heart beats into his throat as he opens the message.

**_Got a bit of a late start. On our way now._ **

Relief quells the nerves in his stomach. At least they made it out alright…hopefully, they won’t be followed.

Finally, Lynda sits down next to Destiny at the table and ladles some soup for herself as everyone else begins eating. Content sighs of approval simultaneously ring out around the table, and Lynda can’t hide the smug grin that comes to her face.

“Oh, my God…” Destiny moans. “It’s even better than I remember it.”

“Fuck, it is…” Peter sighs in agreement, greedily shoveling another spoonful into his mouth.

For at least three solid minutes, no one says a word, a chorus of indulgent slurps and smacking lips the only sound filling the room. Peter begins ladling himself a second helping when Lynda sighs in satisfaction and leans back against the chair, throwing Destiny a coy glance.

“So, Dee…” she says.

“Hmm?” Destiny murmurs, her mouth full of soup.

“Tell us a little bit about this mystery man you’re bringing to the wedding…”

Destiny’s spoon drops into the bowl with a clang, and she grabs for her glass with a scowl of annoyance. “Oh God…”

“Whoa, wait… What ‘mystery man’? Like a  _date_?” Peter pries, his attention fully peaked.

Destiny rolls her eyes, waving her hand dismissively at Peter. “It’s not a _date_ , per say.”

“But…he’s coming with you to a wedding. That’s not something to be taken lightly,” Lynda teases.

“Shit, it’s not Bobby is it?” Peter’s eyes narrow. “Don’t think I won’t hit a fucker at my own wedding, cuz I will drop his ass.”

“Who’s Bobby?” Roman asks absently.

“It’s not Bobby!” Destiny growls in exasperation.

“Better not be…” Peter mutters harshly.

“What did you say his name was?” Lynda presses. “Andrew?”

“Andreas….” Destiny huffs, shooting Lynda a deadly glare as she reaches for the bottle of scotch.

Peter leans back in his chair with his arms crossed thoughtfully. “Andreas… Doesn’t ring a bell. So, who is he?”

“He’s a  _guy_ …” Destiny says haughtily as she pours herself another drink.

“Sure,” Peter says, his face already etched with disapproval. “So…where’d he come from? How’d you meet him?”

Destiny stirs the scotch into her tea, the scowl seeping deeper into her features. “Okay, easy there, Dad… He’s just a friend.”

“Dee…” Lynda suddenly scolds. “Please tell me he’s not your dealer.”

Destiny’s cheeks flush instantly and she covers her face with her hands. “Christ, Lynda…”

“He is, isn’t he??” Peter joins his mother.

“No. He’s not my dealer…or anyone’s dealer! He works down at the docks, helps load cargo freights or something.”

Peter lets this soak in a moment before nodding with a pleased smugness. “The docks… Honest, good paying work.”

“Fuck you,” Destiny tries to conceal her smile. “Look, he’s a guy that I kinda sorta hooked up with in high school, and we’ve recently reconnected, that’s all. We’re seeing where it goes.”

“Alright…” Peter says, seemingly satisfied. “I guess he can come. That float with you, honey?” He slides his arm around Roman’s waist.

Roman glances up at Destiny between slurps of soup with a shrug. “I’m still trying to figure out who Bobby is.”

Destiny rolls her eyes. “He’s not important, trust me…”

“Well!” Lynda chirps with a clap of her hands. “I’m anxious to meet him.”

Swiveling her head around the table, Destiny burns all of them with a warning glare. “I swear to God, if you guys pull any weird shit…”

Peter holds up his hands defensively. “I won’t do anything. But be sure to let him know…I’ll be watching him, the whole night.”

Destiny’s brow furrows. “Don’t you have your own date to worry about tomorrow?”

Roman looks up from his food with a mischievous glint in his eye. “Oh, I’ll be watching him, too.”

“Yeah. He tries anything, we’re gonna tag team his ass,” Peter says, punching a fist into his palm.

Destiny snorts at Peter, amused. “Oh, really? And how much damage do you expect preggers over there to do?”

“All I have to do is sit on him,” Roman retorts, running his hand in a circle around his belly. “Problem solved.”

Everyone around the table shares a chuckle at Roman’s snark, but they’re interrupted by the harsh buzz of the doorbell. The muscles in Peter’s stomach tighten into a hard knot while everyone else looks toward the foyer with peaked curiosity.

“Who the hell could that be?” Roman says, scooting his chair away from the table.

Peter springs up from his seat, firmly placing his hands on either of Roman’s shoulders. “I got it, just sit tight.”

Peter feels his hands begin to shake with anticipation as he practically skips through the living room, screeching to a halt in the foyer. He can clearly see their silhouettes behind the frosted glass of the front door, and he takes in a deep breath as he reaches for the handle.

Pushing the door open, his eyes immediately fall on her and his lips stretch into a joyous smile that is nearly painful, and something in his heart bursts when he sees her expression mirror his own.

He hadn’t seen Shelley Godfrey in almost a year, but she was just as gentile and grotesquely beautiful as he remembered.

Standing on either side of her is Norman, and his daughter, Letha. Norman gives Peter a warm, yet apprehensive grin and holds out a stiff hand.

“Peter, hello. How are you?” he asks.

Peter takes Norman’s hand in his and gives it a hearty, grateful shake. “I’m great!” he nearly shouts, the relief pouring out of him like a faucet. “God, thank you so much for doing this…I can’t tell you how much it means to me.”

He anxiously reaches out to Shelley, who takes his hands in hers without a second of hesitation. Peter lifts them both to his face, pressing his lips hard into the mounds of her bandages, and her cheeks burn pink with blush.

Peter’s gaze flits over to Letha, who seems to awkwardly shrink behind Shelley, wearing a pinched smile. His past experiences with her left an unsavory flavor on Peter’s tongue, and based on the discomfort in her face, it wasn’t hard to guess that the feeling was mutual.

Letha was certainly a beauty to behold, there was no room for argument there. With a kind disposition and sunny personality to match, it was impossibly easy for a man to fall for her. And for Peter, he nearly had…or maybe he had just wanted to.

When he first arrived in Hemlock Grove, his intense connection with the then mysterious Roman Godfrey was frightening to him, and letting himself be consumed in his own uncertain feelings was overwhelmingly foreign. He didn’t feel in control around Roman, and he was always in control; the contrary was unacceptable.

After catching Letha’s attention, he felt it was the perfect excuse to distance himself from it. He was attracted to nearly every part of her and they grew closer over a number of weeks. And eventually, in some unspoken form of agreement, they both knew that if this newfound union was to continue, the deal had to be sealed.

So, when school let out one afternoon, Peter led Letha to his empty trailer nestled safely behind the trees of the woods. They sat side by side on the couch, engaging in painful small talk for a few minutes and sharing a cup of lemonade in a dance around what they were about to do.

It was Letha who finally bit the bullet, slipping out of her pleated school-girl skirt and panties and letting them fall gracefully around her ankles. Peter sat, braced stiffly against the couch cushions, watching her with a rush of heat that…didn’t feel as arousing as he anticipated.

As she scantily undid the buttons of her blouse, he realized the heat wasn’t arousal at all; it was embarrassment…shame, almost.

Before he knew it, she had stripped the bra from her chest and thrown it on the ground with the rest of her clothes, and she stood before him with an uneasy pride. His eyes traveled up and down the soft, perfect contours of her bare body and it hit him like a raging locomotive. The truth, now so blaringly clear, screamed in his face, refusing to let him ignore it any longer.

Peter Rumancek was here before the exquisitely naked Letha Godfrey, who offered herself to him like the coveted prize she was…and he felt nothing. Absolutely nothing.

Actually, he did feel  _one_  thing; the overpowering desire for her to be a certain someone else, to be another Godfrey entirely.

His eyes averted from her and burned holes into the musty carpet, his unexpected silence deafening in the tiny space they occupied. Thankfully, Letha’s own vulnerability made the message loud and clear, and she very quickly pulled up her undergarments and threw on her blouse, sans bra, and came to sit awkwardly on the couch across from Peter.

Neither of them spoke for a couple of minutes, the seconds ticking by in the agonizing quiet. Peter felt he should apologize to her, but what good would that do? She’d seen through him then, she must have, and he couldn’t cover himself up like she had just done. The foundation seemed to crumble beneath them, the bond they built slowly disintegrating to nothing more than dust.

 _You had this coming_ , Peter thought. _You can’t lie to yourself forever_.

Letha tugged her blouse snuggly around her bosom, glancing meekly at Peter’s remorseful face.

“You don’t like me,” she said quietly, more to herself than to him.

Peter looked at her then, his stomach burning in its own acid as he watched the shame fill her cheeks. Despite the truth of the statement, it still pained him to hear her say it. She was a good person, a good friend…but that was all.

“Of course I do,” Peter said, running a comforting hand down the length of her arm.

“Just not enough…” Letha stated, her eyes narrowing at him in question.

Peter tried to swallow the thick bile that now coated his throat.  He could barely face the feeling he’d been fighting for months himself right now, much less speak it to her.

“Something like that.”

The new dynamic between them quickly grew larger than the humble trailer could contain and Letha gathered her things, assuring Peter over and over that she really was alright and, no, she didn’t want a ride home. She wanted to walk, wanted to clear this unpleasantness from her mind.

They muttered their goodbyes and Peter watched her walk out the front door of the trailer, knowing she would never come through it again. He couldn’t help feeling bad for the humiliation he just cost the poor girl, wishing there was some way to rid her of it or, at the very least, lessen the sting.

He didn’t want to use her, and he realized that if he’d gone through with it, that’s exactly what he’d be doing. It had made sense in his sick little mind at one time, but now, it just seemed asinine and cruel. All he had to do was get her into bed; if he could only bag her, taste the sweet nectar of her fruit, then all the confusing shit in his head would disappear.

He’d be cured of the weird things he’d felt around her cousin, and soon he could go about his life pretending he never knew Roman’s name. The strange connection they shared would become nothing but a distant, irrelevant memory.

But that’s not what happened. One look at Letha’s supple, flawless form only affirmed that which he’d been denying since he first met Roman, and the feeling of relief it brought him spread like a wildfire throughout his body.

No more lying, no more hiding. He knew what he needed to do next.

Later that night, Peter gathered every ounce of gumption he possessed and drove to the Godfrey house. He hadn’t the slightest idea what he was going to do once he got there, but something inside him kept pushing him along, promising that he would soon be joined with what, or who, he had been missing.

It was nearly dark by the time he pulled up to the Godfrey’s property, and he was standing at the front door of the house before he even realized he’d left the car. As if acting on instinct, he rang the doorbell and fidgeted his hands in his pockets as he looked around, almost fearful someone would see him.

He jumped when the latch on the door clicked and he turned, fully anticipating to see Roman’s mother, or at the very least a maid, answering the door. But standing in front of him was none other than the towering figure of Roman Godfrey, still dapperly dressed in the two piece suit he’d worn to school that day, looking as if he’d been waiting for Peter to arrive.

Peter realized then that was exactly what Roman had been doing. He’d been waiting for him for months.

The two stared each other down for an intense few seconds and Peter’s stomach ached, the longing he’d tried to suffocate long ago now back with a vengeance. Neither of them said a word, and Roman’s eyes firmly held Peter’s as he slowly turned around and made his way toward the staircase leading up to his bedroom.

Peter followed obediently, his mind never once questioning if what he knew he was about to do was what he really wanted. He knew it was, he couldn’t deny that a second longer.

The sex was clumsy and awkward and over quickly, as most first-times are, but in that moment, neither of them had felt anything so natural or so right. Their need was at long last satisfied, the foreboding question that had kept them divided for so long answered.

When they finished, Peter rolled off of the mattress and hastily dressed, while a naked Roman remained tangled up in his sheets. He lit a cigarette and puffed on it absently as he watched Peter, the hunger for him not entirely vanquished.

"See you tomorrow?" Roman asked casually. 

Peter turned toward him as he slipped his jacket on over his shoulders, his heart beginning to quiver at the sight of Roman's barely masked vulnerability. Roman offered the cigarette to him, and he took a quick hit off it before handing it back. He exhaled the smoke slowly as he reached out and gently grazed Roman's cheekbone, then promptly turned and saw himself out.

The rest was now, of course, history.  

Standing before him now, Letha looked every bit as uncomfortable as she had that night after his rejection, and Peter hated to make her feel that way.

“Hello, Letha,” he offers, cringing inwardly at the unusual formality of his tone.

“Hi,” Letha offers, looking down at her feet.

Peter gently shakes Shelley’s hands in his and begins to pull her forward. “Now remember, he has no idea about this so…” The three of them seem to nod in unison as Peter guides Shelley through the front door.

“Roman, it’s for you!” he calls out, his heart galloping like a wild stampede.

With a hearty grunt of effort, Roman hoists himself up from his chair and, with a moan, arches backward to stretch the kink out of his spine. The thing that bothered him most about pregnancy, aside from the three months of puking, was that his whole body seemed to hurt just by doing nothing. Just sitting in a chair for half an hour made the muscles in his back and his legs scream. Not to mention, the size of his belly was becoming cumbersome and it was difficult to move around without losing his breath.

Once he feels the knot in his spine loosen, Roman turns around and his heart plummets into his toes when his eyes fall on the towering figure Peter is leading through the door. It can’t be, he thinks, he’s just seeing things.

But there she was, standing in his foyer, her hand clutched in Peter’s and looking at him with hopeful, expectant eyes. He takes a step forward, his wide, unbelieving gaze stuck on his little sister’s face. Quietly, Norman and Letha file in behind them, standing on either side of Shelley, and Roman feels something inside of him burst with a joy so powerful, he can barely bring himself to speak.

This was real. At long last, Shelley was here…right in front him and nearly close enough to touch.

“Shelley?” Roman’s voice quivers as his shaking legs carry him forward.

Peter smiles warmly between the two of them and gently guides Shelley in front him by the hand. Once she’s a bit closer, she anxiously holds her arms out to her brother, the tears immediately welling up in her eyes.

“Shelley…” Roman runs, more like fast waddles, over to her, practically knocking her enormous stature backward as he throws his arms around her in a constrictive embrace. Shelley hugs him back just as tightly, fighting the urge to lift him up and twirl him around in the air.

Roman pulls away from her, a quiet sob escaping his throat as he frantically looks her up and down, his happiness quickly turning into fear when he notices the tears running down Shelley’s cheeks.

“What’s wrong, Shell??” he asks her urgently. “Did she hurt you?”

Shelley then looks to Peter with fearful alarm, her head shaking back and forth, trying to tell Roman that she doesn’t know what he’s talking about.

Roman’s wild eyes settle on his uncle, the suspicion in them suddenly sharp as a blade.

“The fuck is going on?” he seethes. “What’s Olivia done now? I swear to Christ if—“

Peter practically throws himself between Roman and Shelley, knowing this situation had to be diffused quickly before the bomb had time to go off. Roman’s tantrums had been far and few between the last few months, and Peter knew Roman was making a conscious effort to keep his emotions in check, for the baby’s sake.

But when it came to anything involving Shelley, or worse, Olivia, Roman struggled to remain placid. In any case, this certainly was not what Peter had in mind when planning to reunite Roman with his sister.

“Whoa, honey, relax!” Peter exclaims, gripping both of Roman’s shoulders and shaking them a little, trying to refocus his attention. Roman’s eyes dart to his fiancé’s, a black anger beginning to boil in those striking green eyes.

Peter gives him a smile. “Nothing’s wrong! Shelley’s fine, see?” He raises a hand to Shelley, who wraps her fingers around his and timidly smiles at Roman.

Roman’s expression softens immediately as he looks at her, but doesn’t seem entirely convinced. His eyes settle back on Peter wearily.

“I set this up, okay?” Peter says. “Norman and I have been conspiring for the past few weeks. I wanted to surprise you.”

“It’s true, Roman,” Norman steps forward. “Peter called me a couple months ago to see if I could somehow sneak Shelley away from your mother long enough to come to the wedding. Right now, Olivia thinks Shelley’s at our house, having a sleepover with Letha.”

“Surprise!” Letha smiles meekly, doing her best rendition of “jazz hands”.

“And though you  _insist_  that we spend tonight apart, I’m sure as hell not about to leave you all alone in this house,” Peter says with a shrug. “Consider it a bachelor party…with your sister.”

Roman cautiously eyes the four people in front of him, a devious smile forming on his lips as he looks at Shelley. “She really doesn’t know you’re here?”

Shelley shakes her head furiously, the worry in Roman’s face dissolving. His eyes sparkle as they lock on Peter’s. “You did all this?”

“Yeah,” Peter grins. “I knew it was the only wedding present you’d really want.”

Roman’s face lights up and he places a hard kiss on Peter’s lips. Peter kisses him back, losing himself for a moment in the passion of it, before remembering that they have an audience and prying himself away.

“Thank you,” Roman says tearfully, cupping a hand around Peter’s cheek.

Peter rests a hand on Roman’s belly, his palm immediately being met with a kick from the inside. “I love you,” he mouths.

He steps out of the way and Roman wraps his arms around Shelley once again. “I can’t believe you’re really here…” he breathes, taking her face into his hands. Her cheeks turn a translucent blue at his touch and both of them begin crying.

Though he tries to keep up the “tough guy” front, Peter finds himself tearing up too, and he looks behind his shoulder at Lynda and Destiny, who both give him a thumbs up while fighting off their own tears as well.

“Are you hungry?” Roman suddenly asks her, then addresses Norman and Letha. “You guys want something to eat?”

“Oh, join us!” Lynda pipes up. “I made plenty of food!”

“That’s very generous, and we’d love to, but Marie’s got dinner waiting for us at home,” Norman wraps an arm around Letha’s shoulders and pulls her closely to him. “Why don’t we go get Shelley’s bags out of the car, help her get settled and then we can head out?”

Roman looks past Shelley and meets Letha’s eyes, his face falling in disappointment. “You’re not staying, Letha? Thought you guys were supposed to be having a sleepover.”

Letha’s face blanches in surprise as she glances at her father. “I mean…you guys have a lot to talk about and I just…”

“Please? C’mon, we haven’t hung out in so long… I miss you,” Roman says, his face drooping like a pouty puppy.

“I miss you, too…” Letha practically melts into putty right in the middle of the foyer, suddenly looking as if she’s never missed anyone more in her entire life. Peter didn’t doubt that either. Roman and Letha were once incredibly close, but had drifted apart in recent months.

It killed him to know he was most likely the cause of that, as he had been the reason for a lot of painful things in Roman’s life as of late. How Roman could even still stomach him was a mystery sometimes. But that was Roman, a beautiful mystery in his own right.

“Well,” Norman addressed his daughter. “Why don’t you pack up what you need when you get home and then come back a little later? It’s not like your mom and I have anything planned for tonight.”

Letha met Roman’s eyes as she contemplated this, once again defenseless against Roman’s glowering. “Yeah, okay,” she eventually says, and Roman shoots her a prideful smile. For a second, Peter wonders if he might have pulled out the old “voo-doo” eyes on her. Surely not, but always a possibility with Roman.

Norman reaches out and touches Shelley’s arm. “I’m going to run out and get your bags, sweetheart, before I forget.”

As Norman opens the front door, Roman grabs Shelley’s hand. “Come sit,” he says gently. “Let’s get you something to eat. You too, Letha.”

They all make their way toward the dining room, Letha following shyly behind the rest of them, and Peter considers hanging back and trying to talk to her.

_And say what, exactly? “Sorry I couldn’t fuck you, I wanted to fuck your cousin instead”? Do you really wanna re-open that can of shit right now?_

In truth, no, he didn’t. If it were up to him, his three-week little rendezvous, or whatever it was, with Letha would be completely erased from existence. But it  _wasn’t_  up to him, those three weeks _had_  existed, and if they ignored the elephant in the room, it would only get bigger and bigger until it outgrew everything and collapsed on top of them.

At the very least, he just wanted to apologize. Not for falling in love with Roman, but for using someone as sweet as Letha just to deny himself the truth.

He’s about to get up the nerve, when he feels someone come up behind him and lock him in a chokehold. And, not at all to his surprise, it’s Destiny.

“Are you done eating? Cuz we need to finish up with decorating,” she says.

“I think we’re good on the decorating front,” Peter replies.

“Uh, we’re good when I say we’re good,” Destiny retorts. “Besides, the sooner we finish, the sooner we can head back to my place.”

Peter noticed the sudden spark in her eye, and at the same time realized how much he didn’t like it. It was his understanding that it would just be the two of them shooting the booze and the shit and smoking to their heart’s content.

But that spark confirmed his sneaking suspicion that the evening couldn’t possibly be as low-key as he had been hoping. Now, he anticipated the opposite, an apartment full of people he mostly wouldn’t know (and a few Destiny might not even know) using his upcoming nuptials as an excuse to get blitzed out of their minds.

It’s not that Peter minded a good party, but…it wasn’t the night for that. Tomorrow would be enough of a whirlwind for him as it was.

Now that Destiny had distracted him, he and Letha briefly exchanged glances as she passed by him, his opportunity gone. She must’ve heard what Destiny had said, as her body seemed to visibly deflate with relief once she realized for certain that he wouldn’t be here.

The tension between them may never pass, Peter realized. He certainly couldn’t blame Letha for that. What good would an apology do, after all this time, anyway?

Peter sighed. “Yeah, it’s getting dark… We should probably hurry up and get done.”

Destiny clapped. “Excellent. You have two minutes to get outside.” And with that, she turned around and galloped through the kitchen to the back of the house.

“Quit running!” Lynda hollers after her as she fishes for clean bowls out of one of the kitchen cabinets. “I shouldn’t have to still tell you people that!”

Peter leisurely follows after Destiny, his heart swelling as he watches Shelley and Roman interact after so many months apart. Roman helps Shelley get settled into a seat at the table, then wraps his arms tightly around her shoulders. She mirrors his actions, grabbing onto his arms and letting herself relax safely in his protective embrace.

The tenderness of the moment makes Peter want to cry, and he nearly does when he remembers that after tomorrow, she’ll have to leave him again. And this time, he’s not sure Roman can actually let her go.

~*~*~*~

It’s well after midnight, and Roman, Letha, and Shelley have set up camp on the living room floor. Roman had never had a “sleepover” before, but he couldn’t lie in saying it was the most fun he’d had in a long while.

The three of them talked and laughed and enjoyed being together like they used to, before life forced them to grow up and see the world for what it really was. It was nice to forget all of that for a little while, to pretend nothing had changed between them.

And, reminiscent of the way they used to play, the area around them was pretty much a disaster. The pieces of a Monopoly game board littered the floor with half-eaten bags of junk food and empty beer bottles. Though Roman couldn’t drink, he still insisted that Letha partake, and she didn’t put up much of a fight.

Shelley hit the bricks not that long ago, dozing off with her head resting in the part of Roman’s lap that wasn’t obscured by his growing mound of a belly. He gently ran his fingers through her hair as she slept, trying to savor the time he still had with her and not think about what was coming later. For a moment, he thinks he’ll refuse to give her up, but knows how unwise that would be.

His mother was dangerous to them enough right now as it was. To provoke her further would be an idiotic, even suicidal, mistake.

Still, he missed his sister, and the thought of saying goodbye to her again made everything in his body ache.

Letha takes a swig of her fourth bottle of beer and shoves a crinkled bag toward Roman. “Wanna chip?”

Roman just shakes his head no and Letha, in a tipsy flourish, dives into the bag hungrily. Roman sits silently for a moment, the burning question hanging from his lips, wondering if he really wants to ask. He feels he already knows the answer, and that answer will only upset him and fuel the rage toward his mother, but a part of him continues to nag, needing to be sure of what he fears.

“Letha,” he says.

“Hmm?” Letha hums through her munching.

“Give it to me straight,” he looks down at Shelley, his thumb casually rubbing over her forehead. “How bad is it over there?”

Letha’s face sobers quickly at his question, knowing exactly what it is he’s asking. She swallows the mash of potato chips in her mouth and takes another sip of her beer. “She goes to school…that’s about it,” she clears her throat. “Other than that…she’s pretty much confined to the house, under constant surveillance.”

Roman’s eyes close as he fights back the anger that instantly ignites and rolls over him. It was just as he suspected, but hearing it confirmed doesn’t make the truth easier to swallow. Though it’s nearly impossible to move her on his own, Roman still tries to pull Shelley closer to him, wanting her to feel his comfort even while she sleeps.

Tears well up in his eyes as he thinks of what her life must be like; day after day, locked inside her own home like a prisoner…a prisoner who is innocent and doesn’t deserve any of this. It was his fault this was even happening. Roman had escaped his mother (or so he thought), and just like he expected, she attached her reigns to Shelley. 

"Fucking bitch," Roman bites under his breath, doing his best to sniff the tears out of his eyes before Letha has the chance to notice them. 

"If it makes you feel better, she's kept up her correspondence with Dad...he watches out for her. He’s even been able to take her out of there a few times, and we actually went shopping a couple weeks ago… So, me wanting to have a sleepover tonight didn’t seem suspicious,” Letha says, her face somber. “She's not alone, Roman. She has _us_... You know we’d never let anything happen to her."  

"Still... She should have  _me,_ " Roman says bitterly. "I’m her brother, I’m supposed to protect her from this kinda shit. It's not fucking fair."

"I know..." Letha agrees. "But what choice do you have?”

Roman looks at her solemnly. “I don’t…”

The room goes quiet as Letha begins snacking on her chips again and Roman goes back to watching Shelley sleep. He’s mulled over this situation in his head more times than he could count, and he knew that no matter which way he looked at it, he was the losing party.

No attorney would give him a chance and even if they did, what grounds did he really have to sue for custody? _You see, Your Honor, our mother is literally a blood sucking parasite…_

In Roman’s world there were plenty of reasons for Olivia to be stripped of her parental rights, but convincing the rest of the world would be the challenge. And it’s not like he could tell them the truth; that would just be admitting the truth about himself.

The hard reality was staring him squarely in the face; Olivia had him beat, just like she did in every battle he’d fought against her since he was born. She would keep Shelley locked away from civilization like an animal, simply to have the upper hand, and he had no way to free her.

This felt like yet another tidal wave crashing down on him, a prelude to the storm that was coming. Something in his stomach quaked, a part of him wanting to confess everything in that moment, to make Letha see just how important it was to rid themselves of Olivia once and for all.

He bit back the temptation in the same breath. Letha wasn’t part of the same world he and Peter belonged to, it wouldn’t make sense to her. She’d think he was out of his mind.

But he had to find some way, any way, to seize Olivia’s power over them. If he couldn’t do that, if he couldn’t save Shelley from her, how could he ever expect to save—

“Ah!” Roman hisses suddenly, rubbing his palm into his belly. The baby delivered an especially sharp kick to his side just then, as if trying to stop his mind from going to that bad place again. 

“What’s wrong?” Letha startles, nearly jumping to her feet.

“Nothing,” Roman waves his hand. “It’s fine. Just kicked, like really hard.”

“Oh…” Letha said settling back down, eyeing Roman carefully.

Roman begins rubbing his stomach with both hands as the baby starts wiggling around and pummeling his organs. He notices Letha watching him and gives her a shy smile.

“You wanna feel him?” he asks.

Her gaze remains fixed on his belly and she gives an indifferent shrug. “I mean…kind of.”

Before she has a chance to change her mind, Roman yanks her hand over and presses it just above his navel. “Just wait,” he says. “Be patient.”

And a few seconds later, the baby jabs him a few times, making direct contact with Letha’s palm and she breaks out in a fit of giggles.

“Oh, my gosh…” she gushes as the baby starts twirling around. “That’s incredible.”

“Yeah, it’s pretty cool…” Roman admits.

“And you said it’s a ‘him’?” she asks.

Roman nods and watches her elated expression as the baby continues to move. He had a feeling Mr. Luca Aleksander Rumancek was going to be quite the charmer one day. With Peter as his father, it wouldn’t be a surprise.

Finally, the commotion inside him subsides a bit as the baby seems to settle. Letha removes her hand from his middle, looking disappointed that she could no longer feel anything, and Roman realizes then just how much he’s really missed her.

But he couldn’t rightfully blame her for her absence, not after what Peter had told him.

He was pretty sure she didn’t know that he knew, and he doubted she would ever bring it up. It’s not that he particularly wanted to discuss the brief “romance” between his fiancé and his cousin, but he wouldn’t stand for their relationship to remain strained because of it. He wanted her back in his life, and that couldn’t happen if feelings stayed hidden.

Peter had told him about it in the first place to be honest and have everything out in the open. He wanted to be open and honest with Letha, too, and for her to know she could come to him…like she used to.

“I’m really glad you stayed tonight, Letha,” he says, and Letha gives him a sweet smile.

“Yeah, it was fun!” she says, tipping the beer bottle into her mouth, making sure to get every last drop.

“Well, it’s just… I know things have been kinda weird between us. And I know it’s because of me and Peter.”

Letha’s body immediately stiffens at the mention of Peter and carefully, she sets the empty bottle on the floor next to her as she eyes Roman sharply.

“I don’t have a problem with you and Peter,” she says. “I mean, why would I?”

“Because of _you_ and Peter,” Roman answers.

Letha’s face turns pink instantly and she stares into her lap. “There is no me and Peter, there never was.”

“Letha…” Roman says calmly. “It’s okay. Peter told me…”

“There’s nothing to tell,” she scoffs. “Nothing even happened. I mean, maybe it seemed like something was _going to_ happen, but then….” She trails off, the blush in her cheeks turning a fiery shade. She shakes her head. “Never mind. You don’t wanna hear this.”

Roman places his hand on her knee. “No, Letha, I do. I want you to talk to me. I mean, if you want to. We used to talk, you know? I want that again.”

Letha brings her knees up to her chest and hugs them before narrowing her eyes at Roman. “I wanna know what he told you.”

He thinks back to that conversation, which took place shortly after they had sex for the first time, and he could only remember snippets. Mostly, he remembered the slight burning of jealousy he felt at imagining Peter kissing and touching and making love to someone else – to his _cousin_ , no less – but the flame quickly went out when he realized it was him who’d won the prize. 

He felt bad for Letha, sure, and he hoped there wouldn’t be any hard feelings between the two of them, but her distance spoke volumes. He supposed he could’ve reached out to her, but he hadn’t…probably for the same reasons she hadn’t.

“All he said was you guys were talking, hanging out…trying to do the dating thing.”

Letha clucks her tongue, her eyes still avoiding him.

“And he really did like you, but…” Roman continues. “It wasn’t enough, I guess. He just couldn’t deny the truth anymore.” He gives her knee a gentle squeeze. “It had nothing to do with you, Letha. He thinks you’re beautiful and smart and funny and a fantastic girl, he just—”

“Wanted _you_ ,” Letha interjects, giving him a hard look.

“He wasn’t trying to hurt you or embarrass you,” Roman says quickly. “He was embarrassed himself. He didn’t want to admit how he really felt on the inside.”

“Yeah, well… he could’ve decided to be honest _before_ I took my clothes off,” Letha says hotly.

“I agree…” Roman says simply. “And he regrets how he went about everything. He wishes he could take it all back…and I know he really wants to make things right. He just doesn’t know how.”

For a moment, Letha is quiet, keeping her eyes straight in front of her as if she’s in serious contemplation. Roman grows uncomfortable in the silence, but words fail him. Maybe this is what she needs, he thinks. She just has to sort this all out herself.

Finally, she lets out a heavy sigh and looks at Roman, the anger finally clear from her face. “I’m not upset that you and Peter are together,” she says. “Sure, my ego might’ve been a little hurt at first because the guy I fancied wanted my cousin instead of me. But mostly…I _did_ feel used. I had never felt that way before, and it was humiliating. I guess I just never worked through it.”

Roman looks at her sadly, genuinely upset that she’s carried this feeling inside her for so long. He never wanted to hurt her either, and he realizes he did just that by taking Peter’s affections away.

“But…I don’t want things to be weird between us anymore,” Letha says. “I miss us.”

“I miss us, too,” Roman replies.

“And I have no one to blame but myself for that… I’m the one who couldn’t swallow my pride and just…let it go. I never should’ve let this come between us. And…I know you’ve been through some really tough stuff. I should’ve been there.” She reaches for his hand, and he eagerly takes it. “I’m sorry I made you feel like you couldn’t come to me.”

Roman feels his eyes grow misty and he sniffs away the urge to burst into tears. “You’re here now.”

“Yeah,” she smiles. “I really am happy for you two, Roman. Peter makes you happy, and really…that’s all I’ve ever wanted for you. You deserve that.”

“Do I?” Roman asks.

“Of course!” Letha says. “It’s a new beginning for you. And, you know, maybe…maybe I can try to talk to Peter sometime. Try to put this awkwardness behind us and really start anew.”

Doing his best not to disturb a still sleeping Shelley, Roman reaches over and pulls Letha into a tight embrace, letting a couple of happy tears spill over. “Thank you…”

“Love you,” Letha says into his ear, giving him a squeeze.

The hug lasts for well over a minute, and when they finally break apart, Letha’s eyes fall on the big clock on the living room wall.

“Oh, shit!” she practically squeals. “It’s after 1:00! We need to get you to bed, you might pass out on your way down the aisle.”

Roman chuckles. “If that’s the worst thing that happens all day, I’ll take it.”

Letha stands up and stretches her arms up to the ceiling, a loud yawn escaping her lips. She scratches up and down her sides as she looks around, her gaze falling on the refrigerator.

“Mmmm…maybe just one more beer,” she says as she saunters toward the kitchen.

“Go for it,” Roman says, his hand once again weaving gently through Shelley’s hair.

Just then, he feels movement inside of him as the baby wakes up once again and starts swimming his limbs all around. Though it’s uncomfortable, Roman just smiles and rests his other hand over the crown of his belly.

“It’s time for bed, Luca,” he says softly. “We’ve got a big day tomorrow.”

 


	29. Chapter 29

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part one of (probably) three of the big wedding!!

The heavy lids of Peter’s eyes slowly lifted as he felt the increasing warmth of the morning sun on his scalp. He groaned automatically at the light as his brain pounded against the inside of his skull, a parting gift from last night’s fun.

Cautiously, he peeked around, finding that he was in Destiny’s living after apparently deciding that her chair by the window was the ideal spot to black out. Every muscle shouted at him as he sat up, the slosh of alcohol still present in his stomach.

He gagged slightly at the variety of bitter flavors coating his tongue: Jack, Jaeger, and a couple of other poisons he couldn’t remember the names of. Right then, he reminded himself why he didn’t do this very often.

Looking around, he was surprised to see that the place was relatively clean compared to what it looked like last night. He had been correct in his suspicion that Destiny had planned a rager to commemorate his final hours of bachelordom. And though he told himself he was going to behave and not overdo it, the good intentions went right out the window as soon as the shots were poured.

Truth was, he was nervous as hell about today and he needed something to keep him steady, no matter what form it came in. The jitters especially took hold last night when he kissed Roman goodbye before Destiny dragged him over here. It became glaringly clear to him then, smacking him squarely in the face that by this time tomorrow, they’d be married, belonging solely to one another for the rest of their lives.

It wasn’t that the prospect of this scared him; it was quite the opposite. He’d never wanted anything, or anyone, more in his entire life, and the fact that he was merely a few hours from getting it made him a jumbled mess of anxious excitement.

And fear, if he had to be honest. So much had already happened to them, things were happening still. And what they were facing now was certainly the most malevolent, unforgiving force of all. He couldn’t say for sure what it would truly mean for them in the end, but Peter felt stronger with Roman by his side, reaffirming his belief that together, they could overcome everything.

Today, they would officially be joined as one, living to love, empower, and protect each other, for now and for always. And Peter could barely stand the wait.

“Wakey, wakey…” Destiny quietly sang from somewhere Peter couldn’t see.

He groggily swung his head around, searching for her voice. She emerged from the kitchen, freshly showered and wrapped in a silk robe, holding a cup of tea. She approached him slowly, a giddy smile plastered onto her face.

“You gonna get up some time today, oh blushing groom?” she said

Peter pressed a palm into each eye and roughly rubbed them. He blinked against the sunlight in the room, peeking up at Destiny wearily.

“What time is it?”

“A little after noon.”

“What??” Peter rocked himself forward, landing on his feet and stumbling around a bit before gaining his balance. “Why’d you let me sleep so late?”

“Oh, it’s not that late. We still have plenty of time,” she places the hot cup of tea into Peter’s hands and shoots him smirk. “Besides, you needed to sleep  _that_  one off.”

Peter takes a careful sip of the tea, the warmth of it immediately soothing the scratchiness of his throat. “You might have a point,” he said gruffly. “I don’t remember much of last night.” He looked around the living room, confusion creasing his brow. “But I do remember like 25 people being here. The hell is everybody?”

Destiny waved a hand. “Most of them disappeared last night and the handful that passed out here were promptly kicked out hours ago,” she chuckled. “You were out like a fucking log.”

“Apparently,” Peter said, taking another drink of tea. “Wait, how long have you been up?”

Destiny shrugged. “I don’t know… It was like 7 or so.”

Peter gaped at her, dumbfounded. “How… You drank more than I did, how are you even functioning right now?”

“Are you kidding me?” she retorts. “I put my body through this at least every other weekend. My alcoholism is conditioned. And on the other hand, you’re just a lightweight little pussy.”

“I am not…” Peter argues, knowing full well that he really kind of is.

Destiny smirks as she saunters back toward the kitchen. “Anyway, I’m making eggs. Come eat.”

The mention of food made Peter’s stomach turn and he groaned. “Don’t talk about food, please.” He rubbed a hand over his gnarling tummy.

“Hey, you have a crazy hectic day ahead of you and you need something in your system besides booze and soup,” Destiny says. “I’ll even try to do an over easy for ya…operative word being ‘try’.”

Peter was a true believer in the power of suggestion. Right then, all he could picture in his mind was the oozing, golden yolk of an egg spreading like a blood stain on a plate, and the contents of his stomach shot up into his throat.

He sat the tea cup down carefully on the coffee table and sprinted to the bathroom. He barely had the toilet lid up before he dropped to his knees and heaved his guts out. It was the most putrid bile he’d ever coughed up in his life, and he once again swore to himself he’d never drink again. He knew it was a bullshit lie, but he meant it for now at least.

When he lifts his head from the toilet bowl, he looks up to see Destiny leaning against the door frame with an amused grin on her face.

“Pussy,” she chuckles before turning and disappearing from the doorway.

~*~*~*~

Letha and Shelley sit cross-legged on the master bed, looking up and down the length of Roman’s body in silent contemplation as he spins around in a circle in front of them.

“I don’t know,” Letha says, shaking her head. “The flowy shirt still has my vote. The button down is nice, but I think it’s going to be too constricting on your belly. Like, it won’t be comfortable long term.”

Roman stops and observes himself in the full-length mirror by the closet. He bought a couple of different shirt options to go with the rest of his suit and still couldn’t decide which looked best. He was no connoisseur of fashion to be begin with, but factoring in his pregnancy made this task especially difficult.

The button-down collared shirt he had on now did look nice on him, and the charcoal grey color would pair well with his black suit. But…Letha had a point. He’d bought it about a month ago and underestimated how big he’d be by now. It fit alright, but the fabric didn’t allow for much extra room.   

It unnerved him enough already that he had to wear what was called a “belly band” to hold his dress pants up since they wouldn’t button and zip anymore.

“Really?” Roman asks skeptically. “That one’s more comfortable, but I don’t know… I feel like it makes me look—“

“Too pregnant?” Letha smirks.

Roman narrows his eyes at her through the mirror, then cracks a smile. “Something like that.”

“It really doesn’t… I mean, it  _is_  white, and dark colors like  _that_  shirt are more slimming—“

“Yeah,  _that_  helps,” Roman says sarcastically.

“ _But_ …the white shirt is still the one I think. It flatters you more, in the right places,” Letha says. “It fits your belly better, it’s pretty!”

“ _Pretty_ ,” Roman scoffs to himself, turning red in the face.

“Oh, please. You’ve always been Mr. Pretty Boy, and you know it,” Letha laughs. “ _The white one_. What do you think, Shell?

Shelley pulls out her palm pilot and carefully types something out with the stylus, looking up at Roman with a smile. “Very pretty,” the robotic voice says.

Roman pinches the fabric around his belly with a sigh; it is a bit tighter than he’d like it to be. And he supposed white was more of a wedding color. At this point, he didn’t really care that much anymore, he just wanted to decide on something. The white shirt would work just fine.

“Alright,” he says, unbuttoning the shirt and slipping out of it in seemingly one fluid motion. He drapes it over a hanger and places it back in the closet. He pulls out the white shirt again and looks at it doubtfully before holding it out in front of the girls again.

“And you’re sure?” he stresses.

“ _Yes_ ,” Letha exasperates as Shelley shakes her head in agreement.

“Okay, but you realize I’m very pregnant and gonna be wearing black and white…”

Letha’s face falls in a blank expression. “And?”

“I’m gonna look like a fucking killer whale,” Roman huffs, making Letha and Shelley crumple on top of each other with laughter.

Unamused, Roman shoves the shirt back into the closet and goes back for the gray button down. Quickly, Letha jumps off the bed and grabs the shirt from his hands, still trying to regain her composure.

“No, no, no! We’re just… we’re sorry,” she giggles, hanging the button down back up. “I wasn’t laughing at  _you_! Just when you said that, like, in my mind all I saw was a killer whale in a wedding dress and I just….Anyway, I’m dumb.”

“Only a little,” Roman replies.

She takes the white shirt out of the closet and hands it back to Roman. “You’re going to look amazing, no matter what you wear,” she says, her gaze falling on his bare stomach. Carefully, she rubs a hand across the stretched skin, amazed at how hard the mound of his belly is, and smiles. “And don’t be embarrassed about this, okay?  _This_  is beautiful.”

Roman’s cheeks turn pink as he looks down, avoiding her eyes. “I don’t really  _feel_  beautiful.”

“Well, you are,” Letha insists. “And Peter thinks so, too. I see how he looks at you…how he’s  _always_  looked at you.”

Roman meets her eyes then, and she looks at him with such a sweet sincerity, it makes something inside him ache. Before anything else can be said, the baby suddenly decides to shift inside him, grabbing both of their attention.

“He’s moving again,” Letha grins, looking excitedly at Shelley. “Shell, come here! Come feel the baby!”

Shelley starts to get off of the bed, but Roman comes to her instead and she sits back down, coming face to face with his stomach when he stands in front of her.

“Here,” he says, reaching for her hand. “Your nephew wants to say ‘hi’.”

Shelley timidly takes Roman’s hand and lets him guide it to his belly, and immediately she feels the baby somersaulting around. Her face lights up with a happiness Roman knows he’s never seen in her before, and it makes his heart swell.

Eventually, the baby finally settles and Roman releases Shelley’s hand, stroking her cheek lovingly and leaving a shimmering blue streak in its wake.

Letha then claps her hands together, breaking through the quiet. “So! Now that we’ve got wardrobe settled…when do you want me to start your makeup?”

Roman narrows his eyes at her with a sneer and she clucks her tongue. “Well, be that way… Shelley and I are gonna do our makeup and look  _fab_. Right, Shelley?”  

“Right!” Shelley types out on her palm pilot.

“Let me just go get my bag!” Letha says giddily and gallops out of the bedroom.

Roman locks eyes with his sister, and shakes his head with a smirk. “Man, you’re  _really_  in for it now.”

~*~*~*~

After a much needed shower, Peter sits at the island in Destiny’s kitchen and picks at a plate of eggs and toast. As much as he hated to, he had to admit Destiny was right; he felt better now that he had a bit of food in his system.

He was finishing another cup of tea when Destiny came to sit next to him at the island, throwing an arm around his shoulder.

“How ya holding up, Drunky Brewster?” she teases.

“Drunky what?” Peter says.

“It was a…never mind,” she rolls her eyes. “Are you feeling better?”

“Yeah, thanks,” Peter says, taking a bite out of his toast.

“Well, good. Because I have something to tell you…and you’re probably not going to like it.”

All of the muscles in Peter’s stomach clench and all the tea and toast and eggs nearly come back up all over the table. His thoughts immediately go to Roman and Luca, his anxiety spiking so high that he can feel his body start to tremble.

“Roman??” he asks frantically. “Is something wrong? Where is he?”

Destiny’s eyes widen with alarm as she puts a firm hand on Peter’s shoulder. “No! No, honey, Roman’s fine. Relax, it’s nothing like that.”

And just like that, Peter physically deflates with relief. Destiny bites back an amused smile.

“I was just going to inform you…that Lynda is on her way over to help her ‘little honey-bun get ready for his wedding’.”

“Oh, Christ…” Peter moans, running a hand down his face.

“Yep,” Destiny concurs. “You weren’t answering your phone, so she called me.”

“Perfect…” Peter mutters.

Destiny reached over and gave Peter’s arm a little slap. “Hey, be nice to your mother today. It’s gonna be an emotional day for her, and she just wants everything to be perfect for you guys,” Destiny says solemnly. “So, if she wants to fuss over you and make a big deal out of everything…let her.”

As much as he sought to avoid Lynda’s phases of overenthusiasm, he knew Destiny had a point. He couldn’t, in good conscious, deny his mother her right to be his mother, and if that meant tolerating a bit of coddling, then he supposed it wouldn’t hurt him.

“I mean…it’s gonna be an emotional day for all of us,” Destiny mutters, her eyes suddenly going misty.

Peter gawks at her in bewilderment. “You’re not gettin’ all sentimental on me now, are you?”

“Yeah,” she sniffs, dabbing at the tears on her lashes with a smirk. “Is that a fucking problem?”

“No,” Peter shakes his head, reaching over to wrap his arm around Destiny’s neck, pulling her into a hug. “I just had no idea you loved me so much.”

“Usually depends on the day,” Destiny remarks. “And today, I happen to love you a lot. But don’t push it.”

“Got it,” Peter replies, and Destiny gives him a tight squeeze.

Just then, there’s a knock on the door and Destiny releases her hold on Peter before turning to him with a ornery grin. “And that would be your mother… I’ll give you a head start if you wanna run.”

Peter doesn’t run, but wishes he had taken the advice about half an hour later, when Lynda and Destiny have him cornered in front of the bathroom mirror, going back and forth about what should be done with his hair.

“It would look so much better slicked back,” Lynda says. “It’s proper, it’s distinguished, it’s clean. Not to mention, we’ll actually be able to see that handsome face.” This comment is, of course, coupled with the obligatory pinch of his cheek.

“Oh, so he can look just like Roman?” Destiny argues. “I say run a comb through it just for shits and wear the hat.”

“I already said no to the hat,” Peter grumbles.

“But it’s an accessory to the suit! That’s why they sent it, you’re _supposed_ to wear it,” Destiny says.

Peter shakes his head defiantly. “No hat.”

With a huff, Destiny’s lip droops into a pout, and Peter watches Lynda start fiddling with his hair in the mirror. “So, what’s wrong with the hat?” Lynda prods. “Do you just not like the look of it or is it—”

Peter turns around, gently grabbing his mother’s hands and holding them close to his chest. “Ladies…” he sighs, already exhausted. “I think I can handle my own hair, alright?”

Both look at him with amused skepticism, but thankfully, don’t protest.

“I don’t, however, know shit about how to do a tie…or wear a suit in general. And then, I have to pin on that flower thing—”

“Boutonnière,” Destiny corrects.

“Yeah, whatever,” Peter flaps his hand. “I’ll definitely need some help with that. But for now, I just…”

A sudden wave of emotion began to swell in his chest as he once again realized what was happening in a little less than four hours. He thought of Roman and every nerve in his body buzzed with anticipation. Last summer, he’d been without Roman for over two months, and yet this one night apart was nearly killing him.

_When did you become so whipped, Rumancek? Fuck…_

He’d thought more than once about calling him just to hear his voice, or at the very least, shooting him a text. But that old superstition about not having any contact before the wedding stopped him. With all the shit luck they’ve had so far, he wasn’t willing to risk it.

His cheeks go hot as he tries to regain some composure. He didn’t want to get all wishy-washy and have Lynda and Destiny get even more fussy with him than they already were.

“Can I just have a minute? Please?” he asks, practically pleading with his eyes.

The worry now spreading across Lynda’s face says she’s reading him loud and clear. She rests a hand on his cheek. “Sure, baby…”

“We should probably start getting ready too,” Destiny says as they both turn to leave the bathroom.

“If I were you, Dee, I’d have gotten started hours ago,” Peter pops off. “You need a _hell_ of a lot more work than I do before that hot date of yours gets here.”

“Oh, fuck you!” Destiny spits back as Lynda pushes her out of the room, giving Peter an encouraging smile before closing the door behind her.

Peter turns back to his reflection in the mirror and the tears finally begin to fall, all of the excitement and nerves and expectation pouring out of him at once. He chuckled to himself as he quickly wiped his eyes, honestly amused over the fact that he was _crying_ over this.

But it was a happy cry, a _good_ cry. And he would always take a good cry over a bad one.

~*~*~*~

Roman stares at himself in the full-length mirror as he adjusts the lapel of his suit jacket. He turns to either side, viewing every angle of his profile with a sigh of discontent.

Like he anticipated it would, the white shirt made his stomach stick out like a sore thumb. He absently scratched at his middle, the fabric of the belly band irritating his skin. He’d come to find out that dressing to accommodate pregnancy didn’t necessarily guarantee comfort.

If he could get away with marrying Peter in his sweatpants and a poncho, he would absolutely do it.

“Roman!” Letha calls from the hallway.

“What?”

Letha comes scampering into the bedroom, already dressed to the nines in a powder blue, knee-length halter dress that flows beautifully around her with every step. She comes to a hard stop in the doorway as she sees him, her eyes immediately drawn to his belly, but she quickly recovers and diverts her gaze to his face.

“Aw, you look so handsome!” she squeals.

Self-consciously, Roman encompasses his round stomach with both hands. “Yeah?” he asks doubtfully.

“Of course!” Letha insists as she makes her way over to him. She carefully adjusts the shirt around his tummy a bit and gives him a final once-over, a playful grin stretching across her face. “You’re rockin’ that baby bump, I love it!”

Roman gives her a dangerous roll of his eyes, but he’s smiling. “Whatever… Now, what were you yelling at me about?”

“Oh!” Letha’s giddiness returns. “Are you ready to see your sister?”

She and Shelley had been holed up in the bathroom for the last hour doing their hair and makeup, and Roman did his best to avoid that part of the house at all costs. Letha had already tried to coax him into letting her do his hair, and he was barely able to escape that particular trap.

“Uh, _yeah._ Where are you, Shell?” he calls out.

“Shelley, get in here!” Letha hollers after him.

Her impending arrival is signaled by the booming tromp of her footsteps coming from the hallway. They hear her stop just outside the door with a tiny groan of apprehension.

“Come on, Shelley…” Roman urges gently. “I wanna see my beautiful sister.”

Though she hesitates for another few seconds, she eventually slinks around the corner, little by little, until she’s standing in the middle of the doorway, both shoulders just barely touching either side of the door frame.

Roman’s breath escapes him when he lays eyes on his little sister. Self-confidence didn’t exist in Shelley’s world, as Olivia believed she should have none. She’d spent her entire life hiding her towering stature behind dark colored bulky sweaters and long, ratty skirts that nearly touched the floor, all at their mother’s insistence that she draw as little attention to herself as possible.

And it wasn’t to save Shelley from scrutiny, but to qualm Olivia’s embarrassment at having such a monstrous-looking child.

But standing before him now, Roman no longer saw a little girl who was so afraid of standing out that she willed herself invisible. Shelley was practically glowing in a Babydoll style dress made of petal pink lace with matching ballet flats.

The hair of her wig has been ironed into soft curls that cascade down to her shoulders, a style that is nearly identical to the way Letha’s own hair is done. And though she’s wearing the barest of makeup—a spot of blush on her cheeks and a shiny gloss painting her lips—Roman can hardly believe how drastic of a change it makes.

For once in her life, Shelley looks absolutely, unabashedly happy.

“Shelley…” Roman breathes, clamping a hand over his throat to quell the sudden urge he has to burst into tears. He walks over to her and takes hold of her still heavily bandaged hands. “You look amazing. Just…breathtaking.”

Shelley’s smile lights up the room, and Roman lightly brushes a hand over her face until the blush is overshadowed by her normal blue glow.

“Like a princess,” Letha insists.

“Like a _queen_ ,” Roman says, and Shelley’s cheeks flush bright red. “You look a hell of a lot better than me and it’s _my_ damn wedding.”

Letha lightly slaps his arm. “Oh, hush it! Shelley, doesn’t he look just _so_ handsome?”

Shelley looks at her brother and gives him a frenzied nod as Letha rubs a smooth hand down Roman’s belly.

“And weren’t we right about this shirt? It makes him look incredible and _not at all_ like a whale…” she gives Roman a slanted look that Shelley quickly mirrors.

In spite of himself, Roman smiles and forfeits the battle. “Alright, fine… I guess it doesn’t look that bad.”

“Of course, it doesn’t… You think _we’d_ steer you wrong?” Letha sniffs.

Roman scrunches his face. “Well…”

“Shut up.”

Just then, the sound of the doorbell rings out from downstairs, making all three of them jump.

“Oh!” Letha exclaims. “That’s probably mom and dad.” And with that, she jogs out of the room and heads downstairs to answer the door.

Roman and Shelley look each other over, a solemn silence falling between them. With a smile, Roman tugs on her arm, leading her to the bed.

“Come sit with me for a sec,” he says, and the two of them sit together on the edge of the mattress. He gently squeezes her hand as he brings it to rest in his lap.

“You know, uh…they say your wedding day is supposed to be the happiest day of your life. And when Peter first asked me to marry him, I remember…just being so ecstatic, and so ready for this day to get here. We could finally start our life together and be happy.”

Shelley watches Roman’s face, her heart filling with joy as she notices how much he brightens when he talks about Peter. She knew from the moment she first saw them together that something magical lied between them and she thanked God they both figured that out.

As much as she loved Letha, she never approved of the so-called relationship between her and Peter. In Shelley’s mind, Peter had always belonged to her brother, and after today, their union would be official.

Then, Roman’s smile wavers sadly and she feels her cheeks grow warm, like they always do when she starts to get upset. She never liked seeing him sad.

“But, then I realized…even though I’d be marrying the love of my life, how happy could my wedding day possibly be if I didn’t have my sister there to share it with me?”

Roman’s eyes immediately well up and he looks away, but not quickly enough for Shelley not to notice. He swipes at his eyes before turning his attention back to her.

“I am…over the moon that you get to be here. I’ve been so afraid…that I might not ever get to see you again because I had to leave you there with that fucking cunt and—”

Shelley’s eyes widen in horror at such coarse language and Roman feels an instantaneous feeling of guilt. He knew that despite all she’d been through in her life, and what she was going through now at the hands of their mother, Shelley would never even think a harsh word about her. Olivia was still her mother, and her respect held firm, very much unlike Roman.

With a sigh, Roman gives Shelley an apologetic smile and squeezes her hand.

“Sorry…I’ve just had a really hard time with things being so messed up, knowing there’s nothing I can do to fix it,” he says sullenly. “But, you’re here today, on the most important day of my life, and…I just want to tell you that…it would mean the world to me to have you by my side when I walk down the aisle.”

The words have barely left his lips before Shelley has her arms thrown around him in a constrictive embrace. Happy little tears form in his eyes again as he lets out a joyous laugh.

“I take it that’s a ‘yes’, then?” he says, and he can feel Shelley’s enthusiastic nodding against his shoulder.

He wraps his arms around her and hugs as hard as he can in return, as if he’ll never get the chance to hug her again. And then, he feels a piece of his heart shatter when he realizes how very real of a possibility that is.

~*~*~*~

Now Peter remembers why he never willingly dresses up.

As he fastens the final button on the vest that goes with the rest of his rented suit, he immediately feels claustrophobic. He looks himself over quickly in the bathroom mirror, the corners of his mouth twisting with uncertainty.

It wasn’t that the suit was ugly or didn’t flatter him. He picked the whole get-up out himself, settling on colors he considered fairly safe. The suit itself was a rustic brown that came with a matching vest to be worn over a white shirt and accented with a dark gray tie. And he had to admit, it was a slick look for him.

But still, being dressed so dapperly made him feel…off.

He dabbed a bit more of Destiny’s mousse into his palms and ran both hands through his hair one more time. The full body of hair he was blessed (cursed) with had an active mind of its own that struggled to stay in place even with the use of hair products.

Still, he tended to agree with his mother that he shouldn’t allow it to run wild today. He wanted to look somewhat presentable. Absently, he wondered if Luca would inherit his untamable mane, and if he did, he felt sorry for the poor kid.

It was enough of a struggle actually being a werewolf without very blatantly looking like one. Drawing attention away from oneself had never come easily for Peter.

Leaving the lonely suit jacket to hang on the knob of the bathroom door, Peter grabs the tie and emerges from the bathroom, figuring he’d wasted enough time trying to make himself look decent. And eventually, the ladies would probably be trying to rush him out so they could get ready themselves.

Lynda and Destiny are involved in an intense discussion over their outfits when Peter steps into the bedroom, and their squabbling instantly ceases when they see him.

They let out a synchronized gasp that makes something inside Peter shrink.

“Oh, Peter…” Lynda says, her hand coming to rest gently over to lips as they instantly begin to wobble. She makes her way over to him, resting her hands on his arms. “Oh, baby, you look so handsome.”

He smiles sheepishly as she comes over to him and smooths her fingers over his shirt collar. While she’s busy fussing over him, he notices the new dress she’s wearing, a knee-length sleeveless number made of burgundy lace that hugs her form in a way that’s sophisticated and not at all skimpy. Her hair was still only half up, but he could tell it was forming into a classy updo of curls.

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen his mother look so elegant…if he ever had.

As Lynda carefully picks at the slick sheen of his hair, Peter could see the tears pooling along the rims of her eyes.

“Mom…” he says sympathetically, and her cheeks go pink as she quickly dabs the waterworks away.

“I’m fine!” she says brightly. “I’m okay. It’s just…” She trails off, her voice thick with emotion.

“I know,” Peter says quietly.

He glances up at Destiny, decked out in a royal blue, floor-length sundress with a plunging V-neck she’s nearly popping out of, and he braces himself against her critiquing gaze.

She saunters over to them, her eyes tracing Peter up and down, before a smile settles on her face.

“I gotta say…you clean up _real_ good,” she says, and Peter looks down at the floor bashfully. She studies his hair for a minute before begrudgingly adding, “And…you made the right choice with your hair.”

“Ha! Told you!” Lynda laughs ruefully. She places both hands on either side of Peter’s face, and Peter places his hands over hers.

“You look beautiful, Ma…” he says sincerely.

“Oh,” Lynda scoffs, her face going red. “I guess I don’t look too bad for an old maid.”

“You’re not an old maid,” Peter chuckles. He looks past his mother at Destiny, who frets with her equally as wild hair in her full-length mirror. “And you look alright too, I guess, Dee.”

She glares at him through the mirror, trying desperately not to laugh. “Don’t make me come over there and bloody up that pretty face of yours.”

“Bring it on,” Peter eggs. “Just have fun explaining it to Roman.”

“Oh, I’m sure he’d be more than understanding.”

Lynda then swipes the tie out of Peter’s hand and begins wrapping it around his neck, and though for a second, he thinks she might be trying to strangle him, he doesn’t resist it. Once she has it properly fixed, Peter tugs at his collar with a hard swallow. It felt like his shirt had him in a choke-hold.

Then she goes into the bathroom to fetch his jacket, coming up behind him and helping him slip into it.

“There!” she says. “The most handsome groom in the world!”

Peter shrugs. “I don’t know about that…”

“Wait a second…” Destiny says, pausing her makeup application in the mirror and turning around to give Peter another once over. “Isn’t Roman wearing black?”

Peter blanches at her. “I…don’t know? What difference does it make?”

“Well, you’re wearing brown and if he’s wearing black… You guys didn’t coordinate colors??” Destiny exasperates.

“Is that a thing?” Peter asks.

“Normally, yeah! Most weddings have a color scheme and yours doesn’t, necessarily, but…” Destiny sighs. “Why am I even surprised?”

Peter narrows his eyes in confusion. “Is having black and brown together like a cardinal sin or something?”

Destiny shakes her head. “I mean, no… It’s just kinda tacky.”

Peter scoffs. “Yeah, well… If we’re gonna be technical, a gypsy and an upir being joined in holy matrimony is ‘kinda tacky’. I think we’re fine.”

With a shake of her head, Destiny goes back to putting on her makeup in the mirror as Lynda finishes up her hair in the bathroom.

Peter begins pacing the floor, as the time is growing closer and his nerves have in no way let up. He just wanted to be sure that everything would go smoothly, but there was no way of knowing that.

He supposed he just had to be positive and go on blind faith, something he had never been good at. Once again, his mind went to his fiancé, wondering what he was doing and how he was feeling, hoping he was missing him just as much.

Peter wanted nothing more than to be able to be with Roman now…to see him, to hold him, to finally join him in love.

“You okay?”

He glances up to see Destiny watching him closely through the mirror.

“Yeah,” he replies. “Just thinking…”

“Missing Roman?” she teases. He swore to God she could read his mind sometimes.

“Like you wouldn’t believe,” he says. “Speaking of sexy men, when’s yours supposed to be here?”

Destiny rolls her eyes. “He’ll be around… I told him to be here by 3:00. When he comes, we’ll head over to the house.”

Peter glanced at his watch and his stomach lurched anxiously. It was nearly ten minutes until 3:00 now. In just over two hours, he’d be a married man.

As the nerves began to take over again, Peter found himself searching for whatever he could to talk about, anything to serve as a distraction from the bubbles in his stomach.

“I’m also thinking about this guy you hired to marry us,” he quips.

“Theodore? What about him?” Destiny asks. “You seemed to think he was alright when you met him.”

Peter shrugs. “I don’t know… Are you sure he’s legit? I mean, what if we go through this whole thing and then there’s some freak loophole where he’s not really ordained and then we’re not really married?”

Lynda pipes up from the bathroom. “Is _he_ your dealer?”

Destiny lets out a growl of exasperation. “Okay, I’m only gonna say this one more time. There will be _no_ dealers of any kind at this wedding, alright? _No dealers_ , including, but not limited to drugs, arms, and even cards. _None_.”

She meets Peter’s eyes in the mirror. “And I swear to you, Theodore is official. He’s an old friend of mine, we go way back. And do you really think I would set you guys up with someone who wasn’t the real deal?”

“No…” Peter mutters.

She sets her makeup bag down on the floor and walks over to Peter, gently grabbing both of his shoulders. Her face is soft with understanding.

“I know you’re nervous, Peter. And it’s okay to be nervous,” she says. “But nothing is gonna go wrong today. The ceremony will be perfect and then tonight, we’ll party our fucking asses off.”

He chuckles and Destiny cups his face with both hands. “Okay?” she says.

“Okay,” Peter answers.

About that time, there’s a rap on the door and Destiny practically jumps out of her skin.

“Oh, fuck! He’s here!”

She runs back in front of the mirror, messing with her hair a bit more and checking her makeup before turning around to face Peter.

“How do I look?” she asks.

Peter’s eyes scan over her quickly. “Well, your boobs are—”

“Never mind,” Destiny growls before galloping out of the room to answer the door.

Lynda then emerges from the bathroom, her hair perfectly coiled on top of her head. She smiles at Peter warmly and comes over to him.

“Well,” she says, grabbing his hands and shaking them excitedly. “Ready to go get married?”

Roman’s beautiful face comes into Peter’s mind and his stomach immediately begins fluttering, a radiant grin lighting up his cheeks.

“Absolutely.”


	30. Chapter 30

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part two of the big wedding!!

Things are bustling by the time they arrive at the house. A big catering van is parked right up at the porch and has just begun to unload all the food for the reception, and a flower delivery truck pulls up next to Peter as he parks on the edge of the driveway.

Peter hustles over to the van, immediately volunteering his assistance, but Norman steps out of the front door, dismissing Peter with a hearty slap to the shoulder.

“Hey, you don’t worry about this, Groom. We’ll get it taken care of. Just go in there and fix yourself a drink. You’ll be glad you had one in an hour or so,” Norman says with a wink.

At the mention of a drink, Peter’s stomach turns as he walks into the house. Destiny’s date, Andreas, then decided to gallantly step up in Peter’s place and help Norman with the caterers while Lynda and Destiny debated flower placement with the delivery drivers.

Though he’d normally be annoyed at being pushed aside, he found himself grateful that everyone else was taking the reigns today. He was a nervous wreck, if he had to be honest, and he probably wasn’t in any condition to be much help anyway.

Letha and Shelley are tidying up the kitchen table, making room as Norman and Andreas come in carrying silver catering trays. When she looks up, Letha spots Peter and, with a startle, scurries over to him.

“Peter! You’re here.”

Peter smiles, his brow creased in puzzlement. “Well, I’m supposed to be here, aren’t I? It’s kinda my wedding.”

Letha snorts a tiny laugh and rolls her eyes. “I _know_ that, I just…” she then takes a sharp turn and dashes up the staircase. “Just don’t go upstairs! Don’t even think about it!”

So, Peter just stands there in the middle of the living room, bewildered by so much activity. He never imagined this kind of craziness, but with this group, he didn’t know why he wouldn’t have expected it.

Norman and Andreas turn around and head back out the front door as Destiny is making her way in. As he passes her by, Andreas gives Destiny a flirtatious wink, which immediately makes her face flush.

She’s still smiling like a lovestruck teenager when she glances up to see Peter watching her carefully. With two fingers, he first points to his eyes and jabs them in Andreas’ direction as he mouths, “Watching him,” and her face twists into an annoyed scowl.

Peter turns back toward the kitchen, his jaw dropping as his sights fall on Shelley.

“Look at _you,_ doll!” he beams, rushing over to her. Shelley blushes instantly as Peter takes her hands in his and looks her over.

“Aw, Shelley!” Destiny coos. “You look so pretty!”

“She _always_ looks pretty!” Peter insists. He then pulls her away from the table, leading her to the living room. “Come, my beautiful dame. Sit with me, talk with me.”

Meanwhile, Letha tries to catch her breath as she makes it up the stairs, sauntering down the hallway to the bathroom. Without announcing herself, she bursts through the unlocked door.

“Roman, he’s here!”

Roman is at the sink when Letha barges in, and his body startles with a violent jerk. He whips around with a scowl.

“Jesus fuck!” he cries, both hands flying to his belly. “Do you want me to drop this kid right here on the floor?”

“Sorry,” Letha says. “But it’s time to hide you. Peter’s here!”

Roman feels his heart plummet into his chest. Peter was here, which meant it was almost time. A prickling heat washed over him with the realization.

“He’s here…” Roman breathes.

“Yeah, but you can’t see him, remember?” Letha says. “It’s bad luck.”

Roman scoffs. “Please, all the bad luck we’ve already had…can it really get much worse?”

Suddenly, the vision of a cloaked Olivia brandishing the blade that was to bring his demise fills his mind and he nearly chokes. _Don’t you go there today. Don’t ruin this_ , he scolds himself. _Of all days, don’t you dare ruin this one_.

“You alright?” Letha asks.

He forces the image out his mind, absently rubbing a hand down his belly. “What time is it?”

Letha gives him a flat look. “Hm… If only you were wearing a watch.”

Looking down, Roman’s cheeks turn pink when he notices his Rolex. “Pregnancy brain…” he shrugs.

“Right…”

The time was now nearing 3:30, an hour and a half before the ceremony remained. Roman’s insides jumbled nervously, which the baby must’ve felt too, as he immediately began kicking defiantly. He rubs the underside of his stomach, the baby’s movements seeming to calm a bit.

“How does he look?” Roman whispers.

Letha crosses her brows. “Peter? Uh…he looks…nice. Handsome.”

“Did he seem alright, though? He’s been a nervous wreck all week. He tries to hide it, but…” Roman trails off, looking out the bathroom door as if he’s bound to get a glimpse of Peter there. “I can tell he’s scared.”

“And you’re not?” Letha inquires.

“I’m terrified,” Roman answers. “In a good way.”

Letha just smiles and smooths her hands over the lapels of his jacket. “You’re getting married, I think you’re allowed to freak out a little bit. Honestly, I’d be worried if you didn’t.”

About that time, a gasp comes from the door way, making both Letha and Roman snap their heads around to see Destiny loitering outside the bathroom.

“Well, look at you! Mr. Steal-Your-Man!” Destiny squeals as she skips toward him.

Letha smiles meekly as she steps aside, and Roman can’t help but wonder if Destiny’s choice of words were purposeful. Whenever the opportunity to be catty presented itself, Destiny almost always took the bait.

“Guess you better lock up your date, then,” Roman sniffed, straightening his jacket.

Destiny gave him a playful slap. “Yeah, right. Bad enough I have to protect him from Peter, much less your knocked-up ass.”

“Oh, you don’t think he’d be into it?” Roman smiles, resting a hand on the crown of his belly. “You’d be surprised.”

“Shut up,” Destiny laughs, her attention catching a timid Letha out of the corner of her eye. “Hi, Letha…”

Letha nods and looks down at her feet. “Hello…”

“That’s a nice dress,” Destiny says with an unexpected hint of sincerity. “Good color on you.”

“Thank you,” Letha grins, swishing the dress a bit with her hips. “I really like your shawl.”

Destiny spreads her arms out and spins around like a model on the runway, the shawl dangling limply from her arms. It’s silk, printed with a peacock feather design and adorned with black fringe. It pairs with her dress perfectly.

“Thanks,” she replies with a wink. She then turns back to Roman. “So, you ready for this?”

Roman offers an antsy shrug. “Yeah,” his breath shudders. “How’s Peter?”

“Hungover as shit, but otherwise, he’s good,” Destiny says. “I thought you’d be the one puking at the altar, but now I’m not so sure.”

She and Letha share a chuckle at the joke as Roman swallows down the bile that’s rising in his throat. He looks down at the ground, a nauseous feeling creeping in his stomach.

He moves over to the sink and turns on the faucet, cupping the cool water in his palm and slurping it into his mouth. It takes a couple more handfuls of water before the nausea begins to subside.

“You okay?” Destiny asks, concerned.

“I think he’s a little nervous…” Letha says quietly.

“Oh, that’s no good,” Destiny tsks her lips and grabs either side of his face.

He tries his best to avoid looking at her, hot tears beginning to pool in his eyes. He has no idea why he’s freaking out right now. Being with Peter is the only thing he’s ever wanted, and in just a short time, they’ll be joined together forever. He was finally getting his happily-ever-after…at least that’s what he kept telling himself.

The truth was, bad tidings seemed to follow them, the worst offenses falling into place right after they were blessed with something good. It kept coming back to the same point over and over again; there was a price attached to their happiness.

It scared him to death to wonder what today, the supposed “happiest day of his life”, would ultimately bring.

Suddenly, Destiny plants a kiss on his right cheek before peering into his eyes. “Peter loves you so much, you know. He can’t wait to marry you.”

In spite of himself, Roman feels his eyes go misty and he smiles at Destiny. “I love him, too. I’m just…I’m kinda scared.”

“I know. It’s okay,” Destiny sniffs, wiping the tears from her eyes. She clears her throat. “Well, I would say let’s just chill you out with some tequila, but…” She gestures toward his belly. 

Roman laughs and runs his hand over his naval. “Yeah…fucking sucks.”

Destiny then gives Letha a mischievous smile. “But…that doesn’t mean _we_ can’t have any, right?”

“I could definitely partake,” Letha smirks.

And with that, the two girls turn and head toward the door, Roman watching them incredulously. Destiny turns her head to address him.

“Roman? A seltzer water, perhaps?”

“Oh, bite me!” he smarts back.

Letha then whips her head around to him. “Don’t go downstairs!”

“I _won’t_! Shit…”

The girls giggle as they disappear down the hallway, and Roman turns back toward the mirror. He feels the baby start kicking around bottom of his stomach, and he encircles his belly with both hands.

“And those would be your cousins, little man,” he scoffs, talking to the crown of his tummy. “I’m _so_ sorry.”

~*~*~*~

Peter sat at one of the tables set up in the backyard, staring off into the wilderness ahead of him with a lingering twinge of fear in his gut.

The last time he checked, it was after 4:00, which meant in less than an hour, it was really happening. He and Roman would officially be “the Rumanceks”.

Peter thought back to the discussion of their surnames, him being more than willing to hyphenate, but Roman wouldn’t hear of it. He decided he would keep “Godfrey” strictly for business purposes, but by law, he wanted Peter’s name, and he wanted the same for the baby.

He was bound and determined to not let his own child grow in and be molded by the same toxic legacy of their name and Peter couldn’t say he didn’t understand why.

It seemed to be hitting him all at once just how big of a step they were about to take. Marriage; it sounded like such an “adult” thing, and there were times when he still felt very much like a kid. He supposed he really was in the scheme of things, but all the hardship and pain he and Roman have had to endure these past few months made him grow up quick.

The way he saw it, he had no choice but to grow up and be a man, especially now that he was to become a father in a little less than two months. He wanted to be everything for Luca that his own father wasn’t…and considering he was actually present, he’d say he was already off to a good start.

It was his job to teach his son how to grow into a decent man, a man who was brave and hardworking and loyal. A few months ago, he’d sure as hell have no room to preach any of these things, but he was a different a person now…a better person.

Roman had given him everything, he _was_ everything. And today, Peter would vow to him that he would do absolutely anything to be the husband and father Roman needed him to be, as long as they both shall live.

“Well, I guess we didn’t have to worry about the weather!”

Peter whips his head around to see Lynda coming out the back door, a glass of bubbling champagne clutched in one hand and a little plastic box in the other. She was already wearing the corsage Peter and Destiny had picked out for her, a delicate bundle of white carnations and baby’s breath.

“Yeah, we lucked out…” Peter replies as his mother pulls one of the chairs away from the table and comes to sit next to him.

“Actually, the old-wives tale is that rain on your wedding day is lucky. It’s supposed to symbolize the couple ‘weathering the storm’ together or something,” Lynda says.

Peter scoffs. “I still think I prefer no rain… Besides, Roman and I have had enough storms for a while.”

Lynda lifts up her glass and says, “Amen to that” before taking a healthy swig. She reaches over and gives Peter’s knee a squeeze.

“You doing alright?”

Peter looks at her and nods, simply answering, “Yeah.”

“Well, the minister finally showed up, so… No backing out now!” she teases

With a tiny chuckle, Peter looks down at the ground, wringing his hands together nervously.

“I’m not gonna back out… Not again, anyway,” he says quietly. “ _Never_ again.”

Lynda sighs and studies the setup of the backyard, dismayed that merely two tables were probably more than enough to seat the number of guests. It was smart to keep the wedding so small and private, especially in a town like this. But she believed both boys deserved far more support than they were allowing in.

“You know, I wish you’d have let me invite some of the family,” Lynda says carefully.

“The family’s already here,” Peter shrugs. “You and Dee…”

“You know what I mean,” Lynda replies.

“Yeah…” Peter mutters, boring his eyes into the ground. “But not many of them would be on board with this union. You and I both know that.”

Lynda looks at her son sadly. “Aunt Maggie would.”

“Maybe…” Peter sighs, turning to give Lynda a hard look. “It doesn’t matter, anyway. Them being here or not being here won’t make or break this day.”

After taking another sip of champagne, Lynda rests her arm along the back of Peter’s chair. “I know that. I just…wish you guys had more love around you, that’s all. Weddings are a celebration, and you deserve to be celebrated by everyone.”

“The ones who truly matter to us are here. That’s what we care about,” Peter shakes his head. “Besides…I got all the love I need in this world already. And they’re waiting for me in that house right now. Roman and that baby are everything to me. And as long as I have them…what else do I need?”

Lynda can feel the emotion welling up in her eyes again and she hastily blinks them away as wraps her arm around Peter’s shoulders and pulls him close.

“That’s right, baby… You’ve got it all,” she says. “Oh, you’re gonna be such a great dad; that little boy’s so lucky.”

Peter smiles. “Nah.  _I’m_  the lucky one. Pretty sure I’m the luckiest son of a bitch on the planet.”

Lynda chuckles as her gaze falls on the nearly forgotten box she still has in her hand. She sits her champagne glass off to the side on the table.

“Should we get this on now?” she says, opening the box to reveal a boutonniere made of a single red rose.

She gingerly pinches it between her fingers, careful to avoid the pin sticking out of it, and comes to stand in front of Peter. Peter stands up and watches wordlessly as she pins the flower onto the lapel of his jacket.

Once she attaches it, she steps back to get a better look. She smiles, shooting him a double thumbs up. “Perfect!”

Anxiously, Peter glances down at his wrist, then remembers that he forgot to put on his watch before they left Destiny’s.

“What time is it?” he asks Lynda.

Uncertain, Lynda pats down her breasts before reaching into the left side of her bra and pulling out her phone.

Peter’s brows cross in amusement. “Really, Ma?”

“What?” Lynda exasperates. “It’s not like this dress has pockets! And I didn’t wanna carry around a clutch all day.”

Peter just laughs and shakes his head. Was he honestly surprised?

Lynda flips open her phone and checks the time, letting out a little gasp. “Only twenty more minutes!”

In an instant, Peter’s stomach drops into his toes and he exhales slowly, letting all of the worry and the fear roll out of him in a shaky gust. He remembered what Destiny said; today was going to be perfect, and he decided then that it  _absolutely_  would be. He was about to marry his best friend.

He gives his mother an ornery smile, holding his hand out to her. “Well… Let’s get this show on the road, shall we?”

Lynda grins, her eyes once again glistening with tears as she takes his hand and squeezes it. “Ready when you are, baby.”

~*~*~*~

Roman stands at the full-length mirror in his bedroom and fusses with the boutonniere Letha just fastened to his lapel.

Standing off to the side, Letha rolls her eyes as she glares at him through the mirror. “Would you stop messing with it? You’re gonna make it all crooked.”

“It’s _already_ crooked,” Roman replies as he starts to pull the pin out of the red rose’s stem.

“Don’t pull it out!” Letha sputters, slapping his hands away and reattaching the rose.

Roman let out an irritated sigh. “Woman, I swear to God—”

Letha grabs ahold of Roman’s shoulders and whips him around to face Shelley who’s sitting awkwardly on the corner of Roman’s bed.

“Shelley! This is straight, right? I had it perfect and he just messed it up.”

Shelley’s wide eyes dart wildly between her cousin and her brother, giving a timid shrug of her shoulders.

Shooting Roman a hard look, Letha lightly tugs on the rose to make sure it’s secure. “Now, don’t touch it again.”

Without breaking eye contact, Roman then makes the grand gesture of lifting his hand to his chest and pressing his pointer finger right into the center of the rose.

Letha’s stare narrows hatefully. “You are such a child.”

“Am I?” Roman smirks.

“Yes,” Letha sniffs, then she gently pats the mound of his belly. “In fact, I bet this _baby_ is more grown up than you.”

“Guess we’ll see, won’t we?” he grins coyly, making Letha crack a smile.

“Jerk…” she playfully punches his arm.

Suddenly, Destiny pops her head around the corner, an excited grin stretching across her flushed face.

“How we doing in here? Are we ready??”

“As I’ll ever be,” Roman says, fastening the button on his jacket that lays right above his tummy. He turns to quickly check himself over in the mirror; he still looks quite obviously pregnant, but he feels like that helps the ensemble somehow. Maybe not…he didn’t really care at this point.

“Okay!” Destiny claps her hands. “Everyone is seated outside, and everything is all set up and ready to go.”

She comes over to Roman, grabbing his face with both hands and smiles at him warmly. “This is it. Peter’s waiting for you out there.”

“I know,” Roman replies, his lip already beginning to tremble.

“We’ll see you soon,” she says, then whips around and claps again. “Places, people!”

As Destiny rushes out the door, Letha runs over and plants a haste kiss on Roman’s cheek before scampering after her.

“Good luck!” she yells at him once she reaches the hallway.

Roman’s limbs start shaking as he walks over to Shelley, holding his arm out to her like a gentleman. She gives him a bright smile and he gives her one in return as the two of them walk arm in arm out of the bedroom.

~*~*~*~

The trees in the backyard are already lit up and twinkling like stars all around them when they make it outside.

Roman knew Destiny would do a fine job decorating, but he never expected everything to be so beautiful. Just looking at it made a lump form in his throat, but he quickly forced the emotions down. He couldn’t fall apart already.

They walk beyond the yard and into the wooded area just past the house. Roman owned the fifteen acres of wilderness surrounding the house, so they had authority to set up the ceremony wherever they wanted, and they would have complete privacy. Still, they didn’t want to go too deeply into the woods, just far enough to isolate the ceremony from the reception.

Destiny, in her vision of how the whole affair should operate, insisted they be separate, and Roman and Peter were obliged to agree. Like they knew anything about weddings anyway.

As he and Shelley trudged through the budding spring foliage, Roman could hear the murmured voices of their families just up ahead.

Finally, they see the little clearing where the ceremony is set up, and Destiny is standing in front of all of it, keeping watch for them. When she spots them, her face suddenly pales, something resembling panic settling into her features and it makes Roman’s stomach turn.

She quickly hustles over to them before they can get too close.

“Okay, so I just realized…we never rehearsed any of this,” she exasperates. “I mean, it’s not hard or anything, just… Oh my god, we suck at this.”

“Dee, it’s fine,” Roman says calmly. “I’ve seen movies; You walk down an aisle, you say some stuff, there’s some kissing, and then you’re done.”

Destiny rings her hands together. “Yeah…”

Between him, Peter, Destiny, and Lynda, how did none of them even suggest practicing this whole thing? Wasn’t that the purpose of last night? To be a “rehearsal dinner”? They had  _dinner_  at least.

At this point, it really didn’t matter. They had intended to rehearse; guess that was the important thing.

“You have Peter’s ring, right?” Destiny asked in a frenzied voice.

Roman patted the breast pocket of his jacket. “I put it in here two weeks ago to be safe.”

“Perfect!” Destiny says, glancing back over her shoulder. “Okay, so I’m gonna let Theodore know you’re here so he and Peter can get into place. When they’re ready for you, he’ll ask everyone to rise and the music will start. Then, you start walking…slowly.”

Roman blinked at her curiously. “Music? We picked out music?”

Planning this wedding had been such a blur, he honestly couldn’t remember even discussing music, which was insane to him. Weddings were supposed to have music, surely they picked _something_ out.

“You didn’t,” Destiny says, batting her lashes. “I picked it out for you. You’re welcome! Now…we ready to do this?”

Roman’s stomach flutters wildly, knowing he’s just seconds away from seeing Peter and being joined with him for eternity. The buzzing in his belly makes the baby give him a nice little jab in the side. He rubs the sensation away with a wince.

At Destiny’s concerned face, Roman gives her a bright, but anxious smile. “I’m ready.”

“Okay!” Destiny squeals. “You just wait right here and wait for the music.”

And with that, she hurried off, leaving Roman and Shelley standing just out of sight from everyone else, hidden strategically behind the long hanging branches of the weeping willow trees on either side of them.

They step forward a bit, Roman straining his neck to see through the branches, but he can’t make out much more than the moving shapes of their bodies. Steadily, the idle chatter begins to die down around them and Roman’s heart thuds heavily against his ribcage in the silence.

A man suddenly clears his throat. “Ladies and gentlemen, if you would, please rise.”

People can be heard rustling to their feet, and Roman’s breath stalls in his lungs. He looks up at Shelley, a nervous smile stretching her lips. He smiles back, nudging her forward with his arm.

“Let’s go,” his voice trembles.

The two of them step out from behind the willow branches as a string quartet begins to play, a song Roman instantly recognizes, and nearly brings him to tears. Tchaikovsky, the love theme from “Romeo & Juliet”. Very fitting, he thought.

On shaking legs, Roman clings to Shelley like a lifeline as they step out, their family members turning and gazing at them expectantly. Roman smiles timidly as he glances all around, taking in the scenery Destiny forbade him and Peter to see last night.

The makeshift aisle is lined with a long white runner, sprinkled with pink rose petals, and there’s a wooden bench on either side for the two families to occupy. The quartet was set up just beyond them on the left side of the alter, passionately playing the beautiful song.

Their families all stood with watchful anticipation, his face catching fire at the attention on him, and he gazes around nervously before his eyes finally settle on what’s ahead…and his heart skips several beats.

Standing there, under a homemade arch built from chicken wire, twigs, and faux flowers, stood his groom.

He’d never seen Peter in a suit before, and the sight of him standing at the end of the aisle takes Roman’s breath away. Their eyes meet, and Peter gives him a nervous smile, his eyes shining already.

Peter’s stomach dropped into his toes the second Roman stepped out from behind those trees. His first instinct was to run down the aisle and sweep his beloved up in his arms, but as Destiny reminded him time and time again, this was a formal occasion, and he had to behave as such.

When Roman finally looked up at him, his heart fluttered madly, and he couldn’t stop the tears from coming. He quickly dabbed them away as Roman’s cheeks blushed red, his hand coming to encompass his belly as he walked.

God, Roman was beautiful…here he was, walking down the aisle, carrying his child, about to become his partner in love for life.

Goosebumps cover the entirety of Peter’s body as Roman draws closer, his eyes never once leaving his beautiful groom as every muscle ached with longing. He couldn’t look away if he wanted to. And he _never_ wanted to. His hands grip together in front of him, trying hard to stop trembling, but it’s no use. He was a weak, shaking mess.

Roman held his breath as they made it to the alter and he found himself standing face to face with Peter. Peter silently mouthed the word “Hi”, nearly making Roman’s knees give out beneath him.

He replied with a “Hi” of his own, tears beginning to pool in his eyes.

Theodore, the man Destiny hired to officiate, stood stoically just behind Peter. He was a tall, slender man, with thinning gray hair that hung limply just below the chin of his aging, sunken-in face.

Roman and Peter were initially put off by the idea of being married by a guy they didn’t know and who didn’t know them. At one point, Peter even asked Destiny if she could do it, and she responded with an amused guffaw.

“I’m not ordained, first of all,” she snorted. “And second, I think we’re a little too close for comfort already.” She gave him a wink and tweaked his nose playfully. “I mean, I’m gonna be  _delivering your baby_ , for Christ’s sake.”

She suggested her friend, Theodore, and after meeting him, they both felt more comfortable. He was very friendly and seemed eager to get to know them, wanting to tailor the ceremony to their wants and needs as much as possible.

The music eventually lulled to a stop and Theodore cleared his throat, giving Roman and Shelley a pleasant grin before addressing everyone else. “You all may be seated.”

Roman then released the tight hold he had on Shelley’s arm and he reached up to take her cheek in his hand. She let him pull her down and he placed a quick kiss on her cheek.

“Thank you,” he smiled at her sweetly, then took her hand and turned to Norman, who stood up and held his arms out to her. Once she was passed off and seated with the rest of his family, Roman stepped up onto the alter and he and Peter turned to each other.

Peter immediately grabbed both of Roman’s hands and gave them a squeeze, and Roman squeezed them back.

Here they were; it was really happening. By God, they’d made it.

“Family, friends…” Theodore began. “On behalf of the couple, I’d like to thank you all for coming today in celebration of the joining of these two souls.

Like life itself, marriage is a journey. It is an adventure full of unknown twists and turns, with plenty of bumps, both good and bad, along the way. But more than anything, it is a road that is never traveled alone.

Here, the two of you stand before each other, vowing to embark on that journey together. You stand with the promise in your hearts to love, to treasure, and to devote yourself to the care and the growth of not only one another, but of your union as a whole. You stand here, ready and willing to share every part of yourself with this person for now and for the rest of eternity.

At this time, the couple has decided to recite their own vows. Peter?”

Theodore takes a step back, giving Peter an encouraging smile. Releasing his grip on Roman, Peter reaches a trembling hand into the breast pocket of his jacket and pulls out a folded piece of notebook paper. He clumsily unfolds it and quickly scans over the words before glancing at Roman, whose chin is already wobbling.

He gulps nervously a couple of times, shoving the paper into his pants pocket before clearing his throat to speak.

“I, uh… I wrote some stuff down, but I kinda just want to talk, if that’s okay.” He shoots a questioning look to Theodore, who gives him a casual nod.

Peter takes hold of Roman’s hands again, looks deeply into those gorgeous green eyes, and calmly speaks.

“I’ve never, uh... been one to settle anywhere. I run from things, it’s what I do. I run from places, run from people...hell, I run from myself sometimes. Like I need to tell _you_ that...”

He lets out a nervous chuckle and, to his relief, Roman does too as he smooths his thumb over the skin of Peter’s hand.

“I’ve been running from everything my whole life, and never once did I question it or think about stopping. It’s almost like I was just performing one disappearing act after another. 

 

Then I came here and I met you and.... For the first time, the voice in me that’s always telling me how and when to run away is suddenly telling me… _begging_  me to stay.

 

And that scared the hell out of me, it really did. But not anymore, because…I know that what I have right here in front me is worth more than anything this world could possibly offer.”

 

He pauses, taking a shuddering breath as he tries to reign in the emotions that are beginning to bubble up. With a quick glance over the audience, he can see Lynda is already bawling like a baby and Destiny is about to follow suit, hastily dabbing at the tears forming around her eyes.

Taking a deep breath, he swallows down the lump in his own throat.

“You  _are_  the world to me, Roman Godfrey. And I swear to you right here and now that will do everything in my power to be the husband, the father, the _man_  you need to me to be for as long as I live.”

A happy little sob escapes from Roman’s lips and Peter reaches up to swipe away the tears streaming down Roman’s cheeks. He cracks an ornery grin at his fiancé.

“If you want the honest-to-God truth, you drive me damn crazy…”

Everyone then shares a laugh at the joke, but Peter’s expression sobers fast as he looks into Roman’s eyes.

“But I’d rather be crazy  _every single day_  for the rest of my life than spend one second of it without you.”

Peter then brings both of Roman’s hands up to his mouth and places a kiss on each of them. He could hear various sniffles out in the audience, while Roman was beginning to crumble right in front of him.

“I love you,” Peter silently mouths to him, and Roman repeats it as he swipes at his fevered eyes.

“Thank you, Peter,” Theodore smiles and turns to Roman, giving him a nod.

Roman sniffs away the remaining tears and fumbles for the piece of paper in the pocket of his own suit jacket. With shaking hands, he unfolds it and takes a long, deep breath.

“Peter…” he clears his throat, his voice still raw from crying as he recites from the page. “Before you came along, all I’d ever known was darkness. My life was completely shrouded in it…only, I never knew it.

Then, I saw you, and it was like my entire world became illuminated with the most radiant, hopeful light I’d ever seen. And suddenly, I felt like I could be so much more…so much better.”

Roman’s voice cracks, and he bites down on his bottom lip to keep himself composed. Peter reaches out to rest a comforting hand on the side of his belly, feeling Luca begin to tumble around a bit inside.

At the baby’s movements, Roman looks up at Peter with a proud grin before going back to the paper in his hand.

“You have saved me in so many ways, and it’s almost impossible to put my love for you into words. You are my moon, my stars, my everything… Without you, I have nothing. I _am_ nothing.

Today, I give myself wholly to you. I promise to love and protect you with every piece of my soul until the day I die.”

The tears threaten to spill over once again, and he pauses to sniff them away. Peter, however, finally lets his go as Roman finishes up his vows.

“It has been the greatest privilege of my life to be with you, to carry your child…to be _part of you_. And I will love you, irrevocably, until the end of time.”

Roman sloppily folds the paper back up and shoves it back hastily into his coat pocket, finally allowing himself to cry again. And, just like he did before, Peter lovingly wipes the tears from Roman’s face, despite the tears now streaming down his own.

Theodore steps forward. “And now, it is time for the exchanging of rings and declaration of intent. Peter, we’ll start with you.”

Wiping his eyes quickly on the sleeve of his suit, Peter reaches into the inner pocket of his jacket and pulls out the black onyx stone ring he gave to Roman after he proposed. Roman nervously extends his hand to Peter, who anxiously looks to Theodore to continue.

“Do you, Peter Rumancek, take Roman Godfrey to be your partner in life and in love?”

“I do,” Peter replies.

“Do you vow to love, honor, and cherish him from this day forward, for better, for worse, in sickness and in health, ‘til death do you part?”

“I do.”

“Please place your ring on Roman’s finger as a token of your everlasting commitment.”

With that, Peter carefully slips the ring onto Roman’s finger and he admires it for only a second before hurriedly fishing out the ring that belonged to his father from his breast pocket.

Peter offers his hand to Roman as Theodore turns his attention to him.

“Do you, Roman Godfrey, take Peter Rumancek to be your partner in life and in love?”    

 “I do…” Roman’s voice trembles.

“Do you vow to love, honor, and cherish him from this day forward, for better, for worse, in sickness and in health, ‘til death do you part?”

“I do.”

“Please place your ring on Peter’s finger as a token of your everlasting commitment.”

After sliding the ring onto Peter’s finger, the two of them tightly hold each other’s hands and look at each other with wide, excited eyes, as if neither of them can believe this is really happening.

Theodore clears his throat. “By the power vested in me and the state of Pennsylvania, I now pronounce you husband and husband. You may now seal your marriage with a kiss.”

Peter wraps his arms around Roman, pulling him as closely as Roman’s belly will allow, and kisses him so deeply, he feels an electric shock travel all the way down to his toes. Roman grabs either side of Peter’s face, losing himself in the kiss as a new round of tears form in his eyes.

Their families begin to clap enthusiastically, and they break away from the kiss, turning to the crowd in a deliriously happy daze, their hands entwined. Theodore claps his hands together a couple of times as well and waits for the applause to die down.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” he announces in a booming voice. “I’m proud to present to you, Peter and Roman Rumancek.”


End file.
